


The Courtship of Daisy and Junior

by hollyand



Series: The Templar and the Blood Mage [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward Dates, Awkwardness, Bets & Wagers, Body Shots, Canon Compliant, Comedy of Errors, Dating, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Failboats In Love, Falling In Love, Matchmaking, Misunderstandings, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Tea, Templar Carver Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 64,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/pseuds/hollyand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set near the beginning of Act 2. Following the trip to Chateau Haine with Carver, Isabela hatches a plot to matchmake the templar with Merrill. Varric bets that it won't work, while Merrill has no idea what's going on. Will Carver manage to win Merrill's heart? Or will Isabela lose her bet? </p><p>Prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1068528/chapters/2143660">The Templar And The Blood Mage</a>, but also works as a standalone. Inspired by the following "Mark of the Assassin" DLC dialogue: </p><p>Carver: So... how is Merrill? Sad that she couldn’t come along.<br/>Isabela: She’s fine, all things considered. Why do you—Wait.<br/>Carver: What?<br/>Isabela: You. <i>Merrill</i>. Andraste’s granny pants, I can't believe I never saw it before!<br/>Carver: What? No! No no no no. You’ve got it wrong!<br/>Isabela: Stop fretting. I’m on your side, and I always win.<br/>Carver: She’s not a game of cards!<br/>Isabela: Whatever. Good at matchmaking, not so good at the analogies.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this (old) fanart](http://aimo.deviantart.com/art/The-Courtship-of-Daisy-and-Junior-338957810) of the same name by Aimo. I wrote this fic really to sort out in my head some of the backstory of the other (currently unfinished) fic, as well as some headcanons. Will post up a new chapter every few days once I've finished editing them.
> 
> Later on there will be references to Garrett Hawke and Anders getting together, hence tagging it as a background pairing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill visits Isabela when the latter returns from "Mark Of The Assassin", and Isabela hatches a plan.

The first thing Merrill did, on hearing that Hawke’s party had returned from Château Haine, was head to the Hanged Man. She had been spending a lot of time there anyway — Aveline was often busy with the guard, Anders was busy with his clinic, and Fenris didn’t want her around — so in Isabela’s absence, Merrill had visited Varric. Sometimes there was nothing nicer than sitting around a warm fire, with a glass of weak ale (she’d never got used to the taste of proper ale) as Varric regaled her with the tallest tales of just about everyone in Kirkwall. And sometimes, other patrons joined them for card games or anecdotes; mostly they wanted to hear the exploits of Hawke of Hightown or his refugee-to-riches story, and paid barely any attention to the elven mage listening rapt by Varric’s side.

On this occasion, however, Merrill had learned Isabela was back in town — and much as she’d enjoyed Varric’s company (and as much as she’d enjoyed being the first to read the next instalments of both  _Swords and Shields_  and  _Hard In Hightown_  as soon as the dwarf had finished writing them), she had missed her pirate friend these past few weeks. Merrill had been there at that fateful night-time meeting in Hightown’s marketplace, which turned out to be an ambush — until an elf called Tallis jumped off the roof and stabbed all their assailants — but afterwards, Hawke had left Merrill behind. Merrill had been disappointed — she had hoped for some time out of dull, dreary Kirkwall; the city was all starting to look alike — but she was hoping Isabela had enough outrageous and exciting stories from Château Haine to make up for it.

The Hanged Man was brimming with people by the time Merrill got there. Varric gave her a friendly wave from the tavern floor, where he was playing Diamondback with a couple of menacing-looking men that Merrill didn’t recognise, although she recognised the Coterie livery they were dressed in. Merrill waved back, and headed straight for the bar to where her pirate friend was raucously regaling a group of admirers with humorous anecdotes.

‘And so we proved that Orlesian dungeons all look the same, and that Hawke is better at rescuing himself than we were at rescuing him,’ Isabela finished with a casual wave of her arm, while everyone around her laughed. ‘OK everyone, that’s enough from me tonight — Varric Tethras is over there if you need him, while  _I_  need to catch up with my friend here.’ She winked at Merrill and signalled to Corff to get a glass of weak ale for her elven friend, who was almost bouncing with excitement at seeing Isabela again after so long.

‘Isabela!’ Merrill greeted her happily, as the crowd dispersed. ‘Did all that happen at Château Haine? It sounds so exciting. Oh, I am so glad you are back! What happened? Did you shank someone? Tell me  _ev-ery-thing_.’

Isabela laughed and swigged her bottle of ale. ‘Oh, Kitten,’ she grinned. ‘I have so much to tell you. It’s a long story. Norah will bring your drink over — shall we sit down? You’ll  _love_  this.’ 

Merrill followed Isabela to an empty bench, while Norah bad-temperedly banged Merrill’s glass of weak ale onto the tabletop in front of them as they sat down. Merrill tried to smile at her, hoping to appease her somewhat, but Norah had already left and was shouting something at Corff along the lines of making her work too hard.

‘Andraste’s granny-pants,’ Isabela said, stretching her arms out, ‘it feels so good to be back in the Hanged Man, Kitten. Especially after almost a week listening to Hawke and his brother bickering all the way back to Kirkwall! But, anyway—’

‘Hawke and his  _brother_?’ Merrill interrupted. ‘You mean… Carver?’

If Merrill had been surprised that Hawke had travelled to Château Haine seemingly with only Isabela and Tallis for company, it was nothing compared to her astonishment that the younger Hawke brother was there as well.

‘Hmmm? Oh — yes, Carver was there,’ Isabela confirmed, lowering her arms and taking another gulp of her drink. ‘Turns out Duke Prosper had invited all the Hawkes — something to do with being an Amell, although Leandra didn’t go…’

‘But — Carver is a templar, isn’t he?’ Merrill asked. ‘How was he able to leave the Gallows?’

‘Knight-Commander Meredith allowed Carver to accept his invitation, apparently for the purpose of “diplomacy” or something,’ Isabela said with a shrug. ‘Turned out he got to Château Haine before us, but I suppose he didn’t have to deal with an ambush first.’

‘Oh,’ was all Merrill could respond.

Isabela sat back in her chair and put her feet up on the table. ‘Don’t know what the Knight-Commander was thinking, sending Carver on a diplomatic mission for the templars.’ She snorted. ‘Duke Prosper wasn’t terribly impressed.’

‘I haven’t spoken to Carver in  _ages_. I haven’t even heard any news about him from Hawke,’ Merrill said, in amazement. ‘How was he?’

‘Funny you should ask, Kitten. He enquired about you, actually.’

Merrill was floored. ‘He—he did?’ she eventually managed to squeak. ‘But… we haven’t spoken since before he joined the templars!’

And it was true. After Hawke, Varric, Anders and Aveline had left for the Deep Roads Expedition, Carver visited her. The first time he’d been angry about his brother leaving him behind. The second time he’d been drunk and sullen and sporting a black eye, having been kicked out of the Blooming Rose (although he refused to elaborate why) and Merrill had sent him home; however, the third time he had turned up on her doorstep, completely sober and apologetic, he and Merrill had chatted late into the night about the possibility of him joining the Order.

Merrill remembered the chat she’d had with Hawke in the months after Carver had left.  _Have you heard from your brother? Is he happy? With the templars, I mean_ , she’d said; Hawke had eyed her suspiciously, before asking:  _Why trouble yourself over him?_ Merrill had, at the time, made some excuse that she understood what it was like to leave everything you knew behind and forge your own path — which was true, she  _did_  understand; Carver had asked her advice about it — but she had secretly hoped that by asking Hawke she could hear some news of Carver. She’d heard nothing from him since he’d joined the Order, and given their friendship, she had been surprised and a little disappointed.

The last time they’d spent time together, just before he’d joined the Order, had been one of the nicest days Merrill had spent in Kirkwall. Carver bought her some Fereldan blackberries from a stall in Lowtown, and they had ambled through the bustling market while they ate and chatted. The fact that he’d not written even a short note to her, after the time they’d spent together, had been unexpected. Perhaps it would be a good thing, she’d told herself, as she had her own project with the eluvian shard and that really needed her time and focus.

Still, catching up with old friends wasn’t something Merrill got to do often, and it would have been nice to hear from him first-hand how joining the templars had turned out.

Merrill shook her head to clear it. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘not that it matters, really. I suppose I’m just surprised he remembered who I was.’

‘Well, I told him you were fine, all things considered,’ Isabela said, watching her friend carefully. ‘But… he did seem disappointed not to see you again.’

Merrill shrugged. ‘We-ell,’ she said, taking a sip of her drink and adopting a more cheerful tone, ‘these things happen! What was the wyvern hunt like?’

‘Well, Carver was forced to team up with us,’ Isabela continued. ‘To “avoid the appearance of collusion between parties”, the duke said. And it was all fun and games from there.’

The evening passed pleasantly, with Isabela entertaining Merrill over further drinks with the outrageous story of what happened at Duke Prosper’s wyvern hunt and after-party. Merrill proved a good audience, gasping in shock and awe in the right places and laughing so hard she wiped tears from her eyes, and Isabela herself sniggered all over again at her recollections of the best party Hawke had ever taken her to.

‘And so Tallis and Hawke caused a diplomatic incident, and Carver bitched about it all the way back to Kirkwall,’ Isabela concluded, chugging her way through yet another bottle of ale, as Merrill giggled and shook her head. ‘You know, I do think Tallis rather fancied Hawke; but while he did flirt back a little, nothing came of it in the end.’

Merrill smiled. ‘Hawke  _is_  very attractive,’ she conceded, before her eyes took on a thoughtful, faraway expression. ‘Well, both the Hawke men are attractive, really, in their own ways…’

She missed the glint in Isabela’s eyes. ‘You have a thing for Hawkes, then, Kitten?’

‘Well,  _of course_  Hawke is attractive,’ Merrill chirped, as if she were stating the obvious. ‘He’s hand-some, and cle-ver, and strong, and talented, and if he were leading the Dalish we would have a kingdom by now…’

‘And judging by what happened at the château, half of Thedas would also be attacking you,’ Isabela sniggered. ‘Hawke  _is_  a handsome man, Kitten, I agree with you there; and he  _is_  talented at what he does, although I don’t know if he’s talented in the way that matters…’

‘Really? But considering he had no formal training, I would say he’s talented,’ Merrill began, thinking of her own magic lessons from Keeper Marethari.

‘Oh, Kitten,’ Isabela laughed. ‘I was thinking of a completely different talent.’

Merrill was puzzled. ‘But what other talents could you want Hawke to have?’

‘Think about it, Kitten. What talents could  _I_  want him to have?’ Isabela laughed again as Merrill knit her brows, perplexed. ‘More importantly, though, I don’t think any “talents” Hawke has would be ones he wants to share with the ladies anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’ Merrill frowned in thought again. ‘…Am I missing something dirty?’

‘Well, yes,’ said Isabela slowly, ‘that, and the fact that he’s been paying a lot of attention to another of late.’

‘That is true,’ Merrill nodded sagely. ‘But Anders won’t act on it for some reason. I can’t work out why not.’

Isabela never failed to be astounded at how Merrill, who was often so naïve, could be so sharp and perceptive when you least expected her to. She’d seen the way the elf seemed to brighten up whenever Hawke so much as said hello to her, no matter that there’d been no further intent behind it on Hawke’s part; but until now, Isabela had had no idea Merrill had noticed how Hawke himself had been mooning around Anders with a hopeful look on his face — especially in recent months.

Aloud, however, Isabela prompted, ‘Hawke’s brother certainly seemed quite grown-up now, though. He gave back as good as he got. It was all very... intriguing. Duke Prosper may not have been impressed, but  _I_ was.’

‘Isabela!’ Merrill gasped, scandalised, before giggling. ‘Did you…  _you_  know… with  _Carver_?’

Isabela shrugged. ‘Perhaps I should have done,’ she said. ‘And perhaps I  _could_ have done. But, I don’t think I’m quite what he’s looking for.’

‘But why not?’ Merrill asked, innocently. ‘I mean, you’re  _amazing_ , Isabela; you’re so beautiful and witty and no one could  _ever_  say no to you!’

‘Oh, Merrill, you’re adorable.’ Isabela couldn’t help basking in her friend’s admiration, even if she was secretly mildly embarrassed by how sincere the elf was about it. ‘But enough about me — what do you think of  _him_?’

Merrill looked confused. ‘I—I haven’t really thought of Carver much,’ she began, slowly. ‘Well, not recently, anyway. I mean, we used to be very good friends… or so I thought…’

‘But?’

‘But then he joined the templars, and I heard nothing from him. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a human thing? So, I suppose I just—put him out of my mind.’ She paused, and took a sip from her glass. ‘I did use to wonder how he was getting on, in the templars. I tried asking Hawke but he couldn’t tell me anything, because they weren’t speaking.’

‘I don’t think it is “a human thing” that he didn’t speak to you, Merrill. He hasn’t spoken to any of us since he fell out with Hawke over joining the Order. We were very surprised he was at the château in the first place.’

‘It would have been nice to see him again,’ Merrill said, and Isabela could swear that the dreamy, faraway expression returned, if fleetingly. ‘I never understood why everyone used to say he was so grumpy and difficult. He wasn’t really like that around me. Although… I think I missed a few dirty things? Maybe that’s why he stopped speaking to me.’

Isabela chuckled. ‘I’m sure that’s not it, Kitten,’ she said, the beginnings of a plan starting to form in her mind. ‘Come on. Another drink before I walk you back to the alienage?’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver tries to dissuade Isabela from her matchmaking scheme, and fails spectacularly. Meanwhile, Varric challenges the pirate over whether it'll even work - and the bet is on.

Carver fidgeted nervously. Three years of being a templar, of being out of his older brother’s shadow and proving that he could be good at something in his own right for a change, had done wonders for his confidence; he couldn’t deny that. He had admirers who actually respected him for being Ser Carver, rather than hangers-on like Peaches who were only there to try and get closer to his brother; yet occasionally, the awkward and insecure nineteen-year-old he used to be would rear his head in spite of Carver having excelled as a recruit.

Even if being a templar hadn’t been all Carver thought it would be… but he wouldn’t think of that now. This was not the time to dwell on regrets; he needed all the confidence and strength he could possibly muster.

He took a deep breath, and pushed open the door to the Hanged Man.

The Hanged Man was its usual riotous, noisy self: drunken rowdy patrons everywhere either drinking away their sorrows or celebrating that they had cheap beer; the merry band played the same cheerful songs it did years before while several regulars sang and swayed along. Somewhere in a corner a fight had broken out between a couple of inebriates while Norah shouted at them about their bad manners; and Corff at the bar steadfastly ignored everything that was going on as usual.

Before he’d joined the Order, Carver would likely have been one of those involved in the drunken brawl in the corner. Now, however, he ignored everything as he strode through the tavern floor with a templar’s sense of purpose, not even flinching when a beer tankard came flying his way and missed his nose by inches. He strutted as confidently as he could to where Isabela stood at the bar, nursing her tankard of ale while the tavern’s resident poet spouted his terrible verse at her, completely oblivious to the annoyed expression on her face.

‘Oh, look,’ Isabela said, looking relieved as she spotted Carver making his way towards her, wading through another drunken fight that had broken out in his path. ‘Excuse me, but I have to speak to Ser Templar here. Carver — what would you like to drink?’

‘An ale for me, thanks,’ Carver replied, as the poet retreated in disappointment. Corff wordlessly served up their drinks and withdrew to the storage room.

‘So,’ Isabela said, handing him his ale, ‘here’s the plan.’

‘I still don’t know why you’re doing this,’ grumbled Carver. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’

‘No I haven’t,’ Isabela retorted. ‘Admit it, Carver. You’re interested in Merrill, you have been for a long time, and you’ve never had the courage to ask her out. And I—’ Isabela took a swig of her bottle, ‘am going to help you.’

Carver took a gulp of his own ale before he spoke again. ‘Why are you  _really_  doing this, Isabela?’

‘Because I care about Kitten, and I want to see her happy,’ Isabela snapped. ‘She’s been lonely too long, and I want to see her with someone who cares about her.’

Carver scowled into his drink. ‘And what makes you think  _she’ll_  be interested.’

Isabela snorted a laugh. ‘I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think she’d be interested,’ she retorted, as if Carver had just asked her the most stupid question ever.

‘Isabela. At most, Merrill and I were just _friends_. Nothing more.’

The pirate took another draw from her bottle. ‘Well, then,’ she grinned, ‘you won’t mind that I’ve arranged a meeting between you two, then. As “just _friends_ ”.’

Carver groaned, and hung his head in exasperation. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I admit it: Merrill’s a nice girl. And, OK, I’ll even admit it — she’s cute. But the templars are keeping me busy, and I’m trying to prove myself in the Order — I haven’t got time for anyone at the moment.’  

‘Too late,’ Isabela smirked, and nodded at something over his shoulder. ‘Your first date is about to start.’

Carver wheeled around, and to his shock he saw Merrill, making her way through the Hanged Man’s patrons and towards them.

‘Carver!’ she exclaimed in surprise when she got closer. ‘It’s been so long since I saw you!’

‘Hi, Merrill,’ he breathed.

She was still just as adorable and beautiful as he remembered her; perhaps even more so than he remembered her.

‘I didn’t recognise you at first!’ Merrill carried on, her lilting voice cheerful and chirpy as always, her accent just as Dalish as ever. ‘You are so much  _taller_  than I remember! Or... maybe you’ve grown!’

‘Well, he’s certainly... filled out, Kitten,’ Isabela said, winking at Carver, ‘and maybe he’s done a bit of  _growing_  as well while he’s been off being a templar all these years.’

Carver shot Isabela a look, but Merrill was enthusiastically answering before he could open his mouth to protest.

‘Oh, maybe you  _have_  grown, Carver! Maybe it’s not just me and you’re a grower after all!’

Carver groaned. ‘Merrill...’

Merrill faltered at the sight of Carver’s bright red, embarrassed face. ‘I—I said something wrong again,’ she murmured, looking ashamed. ‘I always do this. I’ll just stop talking...’

‘Well, hopefully he’s a grower if he’s not a show-er, Kitten,’ Isabela sniggered. ‘Come on. Let’s get you a drink, and then we can sit down to a game of Wicked Grace.’

‘I missed something dirty, I just know it,’ muttered a pink-faced Merrill as she trailed behind them to a table. Isabela signalled Norah to bring them another ale, and Norah simply rolled her eyes and stalked off.

The cards were dealt, and Isabela relaxed in her chair, amber eyes gleaming as she watched them both. Carver frowned at the hand he was dealt with, while Merrill, as usual, just looked confused.

The first mistake he made, Carver thought, was agreeing to play with Merrill around. Every so often his eyes would slide from his own cards to her — he couldn’t even help it, he just… hadn’t seen her in so long. Occasionally she would nervously glance at him, and Carver’s attention would snap back to his cards. Not that _that_ lasted long; at one point he’d got so absorbed in watching the way her long, slender fingers fidgeted with her sleeve that he accidentally played his two knights — and Isabela pounced on his slip-up with glee.

The second mistake was playing against Isabela in the first place. Isabela smugly collected the coin Carver and Merrill had laid on the table in front of her — more from Merrill than Carver, as poor Merrill had lost badly once again — and kicked back in her chair, putting her leather-booted feet up on the table as she leaned back, tankard of beer in hand, surveying her hapless opponents with a cocky grin on her face.

‘Andraste’s frilly knickers, you two were terrible,’ she sniggered. ‘Anyone would think you were actually playing to lose.’

‘But you’re always so good at Wicked Grace,’ Merrill said, her voice full of wonder. ‘How do you do it?’

‘Because she cheats,’ Carver answered, offering Isabela a reluctant smile.

Isabela raised her tankard as if toasting him. ‘Got it in one, Ser Templar.’

‘I can never work out how to play these human games,’ Merrill sighed. ‘They always seem so complicated.’

‘Awww, don’t worry, Kitten,’ Isabela told her. ‘Carver here lost badly too, and he actually _is_ human. Or so he says, anyway.’

‘Very funny, Isabela,’ Carver said, though he returned Isabela’s grin as he said it.

‘Not half as funny as watching you play cards,’ she shot back, a sly look on her face. ‘I wonder what could _possibly_ have been distracting you when you played those two knights?’

‘Oh, I think it might have been you, Isabela,’ Merrill chirruped, suddenly eager to join in their conversation. ‘You can be very distracting sometimes!’

‘Oh, Kitten,’ Isabela laughed. ‘Somehow I don’t think I’m as distracting as you think. Not for a man who’s _so busy_ with the templars he doesn’t have time to visit his friends. We’ve _all_ missed that chin of yours, Carver…’

Carver snorted. ‘Like you didn’t already see enough of me at Château Haine.’

Isabela shrugged. ‘And believe me,’ she said casually, ‘I appreciated it.’

‘Right. Somehow I find that hard to believe.’

‘Oh, she did,’ Merrill said, seemingly finding the courage to speak to Carver at last; the templar looked at her in surprise that she wasn’t addressing Isabela for once. ‘She told me all about it!’

‘Did she?’ Carver asked, lamely; he wanted to encourage Merrill to keep talking to him, but he didn’t know how.

Merrill nodded. ‘She did! She told me she was impressed and that you “gave back as good as you got”.’

‘Well, like I already told Carver in Château Haine,’ Isabela said, winking at him, ‘I always _did_ like a man in uniform. He actually asked if I wouldn’t like a man _out_ of uniform better. Who _wouldn’t_ , Kitten?!’

Carver reached up to rub the back of his neck as he laughed uneasily along with her. Merrill frowned, puzzled.

‘But why would you like a man out of uniform better—oh, I get it. I’ll just—I’ll just shut up now, I’m so stupid…’

‘You’re not stupid,’ Carver said, gently, but Merrill didn’t seem to hear him.

‘Oh, Kitten,’ Isabela sighed. ‘It was just friendly banter, nothing more.’ She stood up. ‘Anyway, I think I’ll head off early for the night. Carver, will you buy Merrill some dinner and take her home?’

‘Oh, I’m not hungry,’ Merrill started, but Isabela laid a gentle hand on her shoulder for her to stay put.

‘No, Kitten, I insist. You’ve got to eat. Maybe you and Carver can catch up after all these years.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill shot Carver an uncertain, nervous look; Carver tried to smile warmly at her, but it came out as more of an awkward grimace. Merrill looked down at her hands and began to fidget again.

‘Here—’ Isabela tossed some of her winnings Carver’s way. ‘I’m feeling generous tonight. Buy yourself and Merrill something nice to eat, and make sure Merrill gets home safely,’ she said to him, pointedly.

‘’Course I will,’ Carver replied, rolling his eyes.

‘Good. Because I’m counting on you to _look after her_ ,’ Isabela added, emphasising the last three words with a meaningful look so that Carver understood what she was really referring to, even if Merrill did not.

‘Isabela. I’m not stupid.’ _Of course I’d look after her_ , he silently added, _if your stupid plan to get us closer actually works, obviously_ …

‘And if you ever hurt her,’ Isabela said pleasantly, ‘I’ll cut off your balls and give them to a mage.’

Carver gulped. Isabela’s tone had been outwardly friendly enough, but he knew she meant every menacing word of what she said. Satisfied that her parting shot had worked, Isabela nodded at him before sauntering towards the stairs leading to the tavern’s private rooms.

Carver gulped again. This was going to be harder than he thought, and he was nervous enough. He gathered up the coins Isabela had provided, and looked up to find Merrill’s round green eyes on his large, ashen face.

‘I don’t get it,’ Merrill said. ‘What was all that about?’

Carver exhaled. ‘I guess that was just Isabela being Isabela,’ he said, forcing himself to sound confident as he rubbed the back of his burning neck again. ‘Anyway. What can I get you to eat?’

The awkward silence between them was temporarily broken by Carver giving their meal order to Norah; once she’d departed, they both lapsed into wordlessness again. Merrill stared intensely at her glass of water on the table, while Carver stared at her, racking his brains as to what to say.

***

‘Rivaini,’ Varric said as Isabela stalked into his suite, smirk on her face and bottle of ale in her hand. ‘What are you up to, and why are Junior and Daisy sitting in the taproom?’

‘Nothing,’ she grinned. ‘I just invited Carver for a game of Wicked Grace with Merrill and me. I won as usual, and now I’ve come to see you.’

‘Come _on_ , Rivaini,’ the dwarf drawled. ‘You know you can’t bullshit a born bullshitter.’

‘Fine.’ Isabela took a gulp of her ale. ‘I’m trying to set them up, what’s it to you?’

Varric chuckled. ‘What in the Maker’s name made you think _that_ was a good idea?’

‘Well, why not? He’s always had feelings for her, although he doesn’t want to admit it. And I think she could eventually feel the same way for him…’

Varric was so shocked he nearly fell off his chair. ‘You _honestly_ think Merrill could fall for _Carver_? He’s not Hawke, you know.’

‘I _know_ Merrill finds our Hawke attractive. I can see why: he’s a good-looking man and he’s one of the few people that’s actually been nice to her all these years. But you know as well as I do that Hawke’s a lost cause — and anyway, it’s just a tiny crush on her part, nothing more.’

‘Heh. Who doesn’t have a tiny crush on Hawke,’ Varric said, rolling his eyes good-humouredly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if even you do, Rivaini.’

Isabela laughed. ‘Well, I probably _wouldn’t_ say no to a tumble if Hawke asked,’ she admitted, ‘but he’s not going to, and there’s plenty more fish in the sea. No big loss.’

‘Try telling that to Fenris and Anders. I half-expect a catfight to break out between them over who will get Hawke first.’

Isabela set her ale bottle down, looking momentarily irritated. ‘Fenris is just a distraction,’ she said. ‘I do wish Hawke wouldn’t toy with his feelings like that. That elf has been through enough — he deserves much better than Hawke giving him false hope just to make Anders jealous.’

‘I happen to agree with you, Rivaini. But, you know Hawke. He’ll charm them both into doing what he wants, and somehow it’ll all turn out right in the end.’

‘Well, I’m leaving them to get on with it, anyway,’ Isabela shrugged, picking up her bottle again to drink. ‘They’re grown men, they can sort it out.’

‘I would expect nothing less of you,’ Varric agreed. ‘Which is why I’m so surprised you’re interfering now, with Junior and Daisy.’

‘Why not? _She_ deserves someone who cares about her, and how else would _he_ ever find the guts to ask her out without some help? I only hope he’s learned not to stop breathing every time a woman compliments him.’

‘Isabela.’ Varric’s expression was incredulous now. ‘There is no way, just _no way_ , that Daisy is going to transfer her affections from Hawke to his brother.’

‘You’re reading too much into the Hawke thing. Hawke is just a passing fancy in the absence of anyone else. She’s always been fond of Carver — if he hadn’t been an idiot and so brutally cut their friendship off when he fell out with Hawke, who knows what would have happened between them.’

Varric laughed. ‘I still can’t believe you think this is actually going to work. This is almost as ridiculous as setting Daisy up with—’ he gestured wildly, ‘one of the Qunari, or something.’

‘I disagree with you, Varric. Merrill happens to find the Qunari very easy on the eyes.’

‘This _isn’t going to work_ , Rivaini. I know you’re always up for a challenge, but I think you’ll find this one is beyond even _your_ skills.’

Varric poked his head out of his suite, where Carver and Merrill were sat. Merrill was watching the people entering the Hanged Man’s front door, and Carver was rubbing his neck and staring down at the table in front of him.

‘Look at them, they might as well be strangers. There couldn’t be a more awkward silence in the history of awkward silences.’

‘What?’ Isabela looked surprised. ‘But it can’t be — how come…’ She peeped out of the doorway, her head above Varric’s, watching the templar try to talk to Merrill and fail. ‘… _Shit_.’

‘See what I mean now?’ Varric gloated. ‘Daisy couldn’t be less interested in him if she tried. Either he’s making her nervous or bored. Or both.’

‘Definitely nervous,’ Isabela observed. ‘Probably because she hasn’t seen him for so long, and doesn’t know what to say.’

‘Or probably because he’s now a templar,’ Varric croaked in his cockiest drawl, ‘and she’s still an apostate mage. Of _course_ Daisy’ll be nervous around him. Can’t say I’d blame her.’

‘Oh, for the love of Andraste’s—’ Isabela tutted and rolled her eyes as Carver continued to silently open and shut his mouth, goldfish-like, at an oblivious Merrill, ‘I thought he’d be a bit better at this, after all this time. Turns out he’s just a big beefy boy with no brain around her at all.’

Varric cackled in glee, and Isabela shot him as exasperated a glare as she’d just shot Carver. ‘Rivaini. I think this is _definitely_ one of your hare-brained schemes that _won’t_ work.’

‘Of course it will work,’ Isabela snapped. ‘I wouldn’t have tried this if I thought he didn’t stand _any_ chance with her at all. And then it was just a question of betting on my judgement.’

‘“Betting on your judgement”,’ Varric repeated, chortling as he gazed up at her. ‘Well, I’m willing to bet your judgement is _way_ off this time, Isabela.’

Now it was Isabela’s turn to bark a derisive laugh. ‘How much?’

Her dwarven friend rose to the bait. ‘You name how many sovereigns you wanna bet, Rivaini, and I’ll tell you if it’s a deal.’

‘Sovereigns? Plural? You’re _that_ confident I’m wrong, are you?’

Varric’s eyes gleamed. ‘You’re that confident that I’m _not_?’

Isabela drained her drink, and wiped her mouth against the back of her hand. If Varric wanted to bet so big against _her_ judgement, then _she_ wasn’t going to back down. ‘Fine. You’re on.’


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver and Merrill flail through the first of many painfully awkward fail-dates, forcing Isabela to turn up in the Gallows to (verbally) whip our boy into shape.

‘So,’ Carver eventually began. ‘Um. Merrill. How have you been?’

‘I’m fine,’ Merrill said to the table. ‘How about you?’

‘Fine.’

‘That’s good.’

Silence again. The roar of the Hanged Man rose up around them, as loud and lively as ever, but as far as Carver was concerned the din could have been outside; it seemed so distant with the awkwardness that currently existed between him and the dark-haired elven woman sitting at the same table.

‘I hadn’t been expecting to see you here tonight,’ Merrill admitted stiffly after a while, staring down at her glass.

‘Yeah. Isabela invited me here.’

‘Yes, Isabela told me all about your adventures at Château Haine.’ Merrill threw a small, tentative smile vaguely in his direction. ‘I wonder why she asked you to our card game tonight?’

‘I have no idea,’ Carver lied.

‘Oh.’

Silence. _This couldn’t be going worse if you tried_ , Carver grumbled inside his head. _Why are you always so tongue-tied around her?_ _She’s just Merrill._

Come to think of it, her being ‘just Merrill’ was probably part of the problem. Except that he swore the Merrill he used to know never quite arrested his eyes this much; try as he might, he found he couldn’t take his gaze off her, and he wasn’t sure why.

Maybe that’s just what happened when you hadn’t seen a good friend for such a long time, he supposed. Not that he’d had many friends growing up, what with his family always being on the move, always having to hide — it had been easier that way, even if Carver had always resented it.

And now he was living in Kirkwall, Carver couldn’t say he had many friends of his own either — the girl he was sitting with right now was, technically, one of his brother’s friends. Even if she was the only one of Garrett’s friends who _didn’t_ seem to think he was a complete tit — not to mention being the only one of the group who was actually around his own age…

She seemed nervous right now though. Just like he was.

‘Are you OK, Merrill?’

‘Um… yes? I think so. Why?’

‘I dunno, you just seem a bit… nervous, maybe?’

‘Do I? Oh. I didn’t mean to, I—well, since Isabela invited you here I’m sure you’re not here to arrest me, or arrest anyone else…’

‘Of course not.’

‘Oh.’

Silence again. _Maybe I shouldn’t have turned up in my templar armour_ , Carver thought, _but then, I didn’t know that bloody Isabela was gonna invite her along in the first place_.

After all, she’d asked Carver to meet her at the Hanged Man to discuss what to do about what he’d inadvertently revealed — that he secretly harboured feelings for Merrill — a few weeks earlier. He had only turned up to try to talk her out of her matchmaking scheme; he had no idea the woman was going to throw him straight in at the deep end and onto an _actual date_.

Mind you, did Merrill even _know_ this was supposed to be a date? Surely it wasn’t even a date if Merrill had no idea it was a date?

‘Merrill?’ Carver noted she jumped when he said her name, and inwardly he winced. ‘Did… did Isabela tell _you_ why she’d invited me along tonight?’

Merrill actually looked at him then; her wide, moss-green eyes were like the largest and clearest of precious gemstones set in her thin pale face, and Carver’s breath caught in his throat; he suddenly really wished he wasn’t sitting there so large and hulking in his metal armour beside her slight, delicate figure.

‘No, Isabela didn’t tell me why she’d invited you along,’ Merrill quavered, and Carver snapped back to his senses again. ‘Which is why I asked _you_.’

 _Shit_. ‘Oh, right. Yeah, you did ask me. You’re right.’

They stared at each other for some moments, until Merrill broke it off, and started playing with her sleeves again. Carver watched her long, slender fingers, tipped with dark red nails, idly wondering — just like he’d done so many years ago — what they would feel like in his hands, on his cheek, trailing down his skin…

 _No. Don’t think about this. You are not the same person she knew three years ago._ She _is not the same person you knew three years ago_.

Well, _that_ was true. Carver could swear she’d got even more cute in the years he’d been away, while he’d just got bigger and uglier and even more inept around her.

If only Garrett hadn’t inherited _all_ of Malcolm Hawke’s charm and good looks, and left some for him. Life was so bloody unfair.

 _Also, she’s probably still a blood mage, and you’re a templar. You really shouldn’t forget that bit_.

Merrill did actually have a point. By rights, he _should_ be here to arrest her. Not… buy her dinner and drinks.

‘Perhaps Isabela wanted to see you again after your trip,’ Merrill began, after a pause. ‘It sounds like you all had so much fun. I wish I could have been there, but Hawke decided not to take me for some reason.’

‘Oh, well, that wasn’t very nice of him.’

‘Oh that’s not true,’ Merrill said, forcing cheeriness into her tremulous voice. ‘Hawke is nice to everybody! Well, almost everybody? Maybe not to people who attack us…’

What, Carver thought, was he supposed to say to that? ‘I suppose. Maybe. Not really.’

‘Oh! I forgot. You fell out with Hawke over the templars, didn’t you — I’m so sorry, Isabela told me, and I forgot you’re not speaking, and—’

‘Hey, Merrill. It’s OK…’

‘…and I tried asking him how you _were_ , and he wouldn’t tell me, and your mother seemed so upset I didn’t want to ask her about you, and…’

‘Merrill… you asked… about _me_?’

‘…and now you’re here, and I could just ask you, and I tried to earlier but I said something wrong again…’

‘Hey, no, you didn’t—’

‘…but I was so surprised to see you again after so long and I’m babbling again, sorry…’

Carver reached up and rubbed the back of his burning neck, stumped as to what to say.

‘Well,’ Merrill said, fidgeting with her glass again, ‘it _was_ a shock to see you.’ She sighed. ‘I’m just—I’m so sorry I said something stupid again earlier. I always mess things up with people…’

‘Merrill, you didn’t mess anything up.’

‘But I do. I _always_ say something stupid around you, and you always seem so frustrated when I do, and—’

She looked up, and seemed surprised to see horrified concern written all over his face.

‘Merrill. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. I really— _don’t_ think you’re stupid.’

‘But you must do,’ Merrill insisted. ‘I haven’t heard from you for _years_. Not even a short letter. I thought it was maybe a human thing, but Isabela told me it wasn’t, and then I thought maybe it’s because I say the stupidest things, and I always miss the dirty things…’

‘Maker,’ Carver said, hanging his head. ‘I’m the one who has messed up, not you. I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch with you all these years. I had no idea you even wanted me to—’

Merrill stared at him, innocent green eyes round with astonishment. ‘But I thought we were friends,’ she said. ‘Why wouldn’t I have wanted to hear from you? That’s what friends do, isn’t it? Or is there a human thing I’m missing?’

‘No, there isn’t a “human thing” you’re missing. You’re right. I just—’ Carver breathed in before exhaling forcefully. ‘It wasn’t you, Merrill, it was me, and I’m sorry. It was just—easier—to have nothing to do with Garrett, including his friends. And…’ _And I felt shy, and I was trying to forget about you, and I didn’t know if you liked me as much as I liked you, and as a templar I_ shouldn’t _even like you, and how do I tell you any of these things?_

‘…I didn’t think you’d want to be friends with a templar,’ he finished.

‘But you’re not just a templar,’ Merrill said. ‘You’re Carver.’

 _She’s so kind_ , sighed the voice in his head, _but then, I suppose she’s nice to everyone_.

Outwardly, Carver merely grunted. ‘Thanks, Merrill. If only my brother could see it that way.’ He reached out to place his hand on her shoulder, then thought better of it and lowered his arm instead. ‘I _am_ sorry, though. For making you feel the way you did all these years.’

‘Oh, there’s no need to apologise,’ Merrill insisted, her shoulders relaxing slightly for the first time that evening. ‘I mean, I do say a lot of stupid things, and I do miss a lot of dirty things, so I just thought maybe it was that.’

‘It wasn’t, Merrill. I promise.’

Dinner was served then; a huge hunk of bread, some butter and a very hearty rabbit-and-carrot soup. They tucked into their food in slightly more companionable silence, and ate for a while before Merrill spoke again.

‘Carver? We—we _are_ friends, aren’t we?’

‘Of course we are, Merrill.’

‘So if we’re friends again,’ Merrill said, ‘did I miss something dirty earlier?’

Carver couldn’t help it; he smiled. ‘Er, actually, yeah. You did.’

‘I knew it,’ Merrill muttered, and it tugged at Carver’s heart to see how crushed she looked. ‘I _always_ miss the dirty things, and nobody ever wants to tell me.’

‘OK, then.’ He swallowed another spoonful of soup before answering. ‘It’s just — when you say a man is a grower, you’re referring to his—you know—’ Carver blushed and pointed in the direction of his crotch.

Merrill frowned. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘Well, if he’s a grower, it means his— _you know_ —is not so big when you look at it but gets a lot bigger when he’s—’ Carver cleared his throat, ‘ _aroused_.’

Merrill’s eyes were like saucers. Now it was her turn to blush. ‘ _Oh_.’

‘And if he’s a show-er,’ Carver carried on, determined to explain despite his burning face, ‘then — he’s already big down there to start with. Which is what Isabela meant when she said…’

‘I can’t believe I said that to you!’ Merrill cried, dropping her cutlery with a clatter and covering her face with her hands. ‘How _stu-pid_! How _embarrassing_! No wonder you—’

‘Hey, hey,’ Carver put his own cutlery down, he reached across to her again before withdrawing his arm once more. _Whatever Merrill says about being friends, she probably doesn’t want some templar she’s only just met again putting his arm round her_ , he scolded himself. ‘Merrill, it’s OK, don’t worry so.’

‘But it’s not, is it,’ Merrill said, her lilting voice as furious as her blush as she uncovered her face and began to tear roughly at her remaining bread. ‘You haven’t even seen me for three years, and all you do is say hello and I’m already talking about your penis.’

Carver burst out laughing; on seeing Merrill scowl deeper at her food he covered his mouth trying to stuff his mirth back in. It didn’t work, however, and the odd titter still escaped him even while he tried to speak again.

‘You see?’ Merrill said, shoving the rest of her food away. ‘I say the stupidest things, and even _you_ laugh at me.’

‘Merrill, I’m sorry,’ Carver said, still snorting a little. ‘It was just—the way you said it. It was funny. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. It was your delivery I was laughing at, not you.’

Merrill continued to scowl at the table, face red; Carver sighed, and bent his head down onto the table to try to look at her face.

‘Merrill.’ Carver peered at her from the odd angle, hoping she wasn’t too mortified to listen to him. ‘How about this: I promise to explain all the “dirty things” you miss so that you’ll understand them. OK?’

Merrill’s shiny-eyed gaze eventually found his. Carver tried to smile at her from where his cheek was pressed against the table. ‘How does that sound?’

His heart lifted when she shyly nodded and giggled; he knew he looked stupid grinning at her with his face on the table, but if it made her smile again it was all worth it. ‘I’d like that,’ she said.

‘Good. Can I lift my face off the table now?’

Merrill giggled again, and Carver sat up. Merrill was looking much, much less tense; when he smiled at her she beamed at him, and his breath caught in his throat again. _She really is adorable_ , he thought.

‘Car-ver,’ she began in that singsong lilt of hers that he’d been delighted to hear again this evening, ‘it’s nice to see you, but… I really should be getting back home. I know Isabela said you should walk me back, but — if you don’t want to, I understand.’

‘Of course I’ll walk you back,’ Carver said; there was no question that he wouldn’t. ‘Isabela would kill me if I didn’t, anyway. I’ll make sure you get home safely, and then I need to get back to the Gallows.’

***

‘So,’ came a smooth, confident, familiar female voice from behind Carver’s shoulder, ‘how did your first date go?’

‘Maker, Isabela!’ Carver jumped in his chair; he swore as he noticed the ink splotch on the paper in front of him, ruining what had been yet another failed attempt to write to Garrett since he joined the Order. ‘Don’t sneak up on me like that! Wait — how did you get in here?’

‘Through the open window, of course,’ Isabela shrugged, ‘once I’d made sure there was nobody else about, obviously.’ She surveyed the empty greyish-beige stone room around her, eyes travelling up and down the rows of neatly-made beds, taking in each templar’s wood-and-metal desk, locker and storage chest. ‘These templar dormitories aren’t the most _private_ of places.’

‘Yeah, this is where the newly-promoted templars sleep. Well, as well as those who’ve been templars for a while, I guess — the recruits have their own dormitories. It’s only the ranked templars that get a private bedroom all to themselves.’

‘Fascinating,’ Isabela purred. ‘All those wide-eyed, enthusiastic, _thrusting_ young men and women sharing a room together in their prime… but anyway, that’s a thought for another day. You, templar, have let me down rather badly.’

Carver sat back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively, as Isabela perched herself on his writing desk, sweeping his ink-stained letter to one side after a cursory glance at its contents. ‘I _told_ you you got it all wrong.’

‘Keep telling yourself that. We both know it’s not true.’

‘Well, it was a disaster, anyway,’ Carver said, curtly. ‘We barely spoke to each other at the tavern, and then I had no idea what to say to her when I walked her home.’

‘I know. I gathered as much from Merrill. She seems to think she annoyed you by her nervous babbling on the way back to the alienage.’

Carver softened. ‘Well, she didn’t.’

Isabela blew out an exasperated sigh. ‘Then _tell her that_. Talk. To. Her. Andraste’s granny-pants, Carver, you can’t just say nothing and expect her to read your mind. _She_ doesn’t know you’re only glowering in silence because you feel awkward that you don’t know how to get into her knickers.’

Despite his folded arms, Carver went red. ‘Thanks for that, Isabela,’ he grumbled.

‘Well, you’d _better_ do better than that next time. When are you next free?’

‘There won’t be a next time,’ Carver replied through gritted teeth. ‘You need to— Maker, just stop interfering, Isabela. She doesn’t even _know_ you’re trying to set us up.’

‘And she doesn’t need to know, if you do it right. Or would you rather I try to set her up with someone else? She’s been lonely for so long, and it’ll be nice to see her with someone who _truly_ cares about her…’

‘Fine,’ Carver answered, too quickly, and Isabela smirked that he’d taken the bait; he felt humiliated, but he couldn’t help himself. ‘I’m not free for a while now, though, but I’ll meet you down the Hanged Man again when I am. Deal?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will get the next chapter up tomorrow night (UK time, of course, unless something gets in the the way - this fic is already fully written, it just needs a final edit and review of each chapter before being posted up). 
> 
> It is my personal headcanon that Carver spoke to Merrill about joining the templars while Hawke was away, and maybe even asked her advice and/or promised not to turn her in. I can think of no other reason why she's more OK about it in-game than she should be - especially considering she's an apostate blood mage and he knows it. 
> 
> Hell, if you go to her place just after the Deep Roads Expedition and talk to her, her dialogue suggests she's far more understanding about Carver's decision to join the templars than even _Hawke_ is ("I know how hard it is to give up everything and live among strangers. I worry about him, and not just for his sake"), and that she also understands that whatever Carver's reasons, Hawke may well be upset anyway so she tries to placate him ("I know he was angry when you left, but this wasn't your fault. One day he'll understand you were trying to protect him"). 
> 
> So, I think she and Carver may well have come to an understanding of sorts regarding his decision to join the Order, whether that happens while Hawke is away during the Deep Roads Expedition, or just before it when Carver finds out he'll be left behind. 
> 
> Anyway. Hope you enjoy, and Chapter 4 will be up soon! Comments and kudos are very welcome :-)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill goes to the Hanged Man to see Isabela, and finds the pirate has invited Carver to the tavern again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reeba the alienage elf _hahren_ is mentioned in Merrill's entry in _World of Thedas Volume II_ , which also mentions that Merrill got lost "every single day for three years". From Merrill's Act 2 codex ("Merrill - After the Deep Roads"), it becomes clear that she is also horribly, horribly, heartbreakingly lonely: "Merrill has had difficulty adjusting. Her neighbors ignore her existence, and even the most determined socialites in Lowtown cross the street to avoid her." Ouch.

Before Merrill knew it, almost three weeks had passed since the evening when Carver had walked her from the Hanged Man back to the alienage; she’d been so nervous in his company that she hadn’t even let him walk her to her front door, sprinting across the courtyard and past the vhenadahl tree as soon as she was able to.

It had been awkward. _So_ awkward. She’d been so surprised and pleased to see him again in the Hanged Man that time, and then she had to say something stupid and potentially embarrass him with a dirty thing, didn’t she? Carver had seemed so sullen and quiet all the way back home that Merrill couldn’t help thinking she _had_ embarrassed him. And _that_ had made her even more nervous than she usually was around people.

Creators, she’d been so nervous she’d even forgotten to ask him what being a templar had been like all these years.

If Carver had been his brother, Merrill thought she’d have felt more confident about what to say to him: Hawke just had that way with people, of making them feel like they were better than they actually were — all done with a twinkling eye and a smirk that was as playfully teasing as his words. Merrill wished she could do that almost as much as she wished she could do the seductive sort-of-swagger Isabela did when she walked.

However, after a couple of days fretting over the evening with Carver — which was relieved by talking to Isabela, like most things — Merrill put it out of her mind. The days passed; and Merrill had carried on working on the eluvian shard, meeting Hawke and everyone else for cards and drinks at the Hanged Man, and spending hours every day getting lost to and from the Lowtown markets again.

‘Still getting lost?’ the elf Reeba asked in disbelief, when Merrill had gone out for a loaf of bread and returned some six hours later, trailing ropes and branches and dead fish from the docks behind her. Reeba was the elder of Kirkwall’s alienage — their _hahren_ — and one of the few elves that said anything to Merrill beyond a simple hello. ‘Haven’t you been living here for three years? Surely you can’t _still_ be getting lost?’

‘But it’s all so confusing! And everything looks the same!’ Merrill told her, untangling herself from the debris she’d dragged in her wake. ‘How would you _not_ get lost every day?’

Reeba had merely raised an eyebrow. The other elves around her rolled their eyes and tittered, and Merrill ignored them and walked home. It was probably the first time any of the other elves — barring Reeba — had taken any note of her at all.

Just like the clan, the elves in the alienage (on the rare occasion they even registered she existed) thought she was very strange. Tamlen and Mahariel had been the only people in her clan that had had any patience with her, and once they had… _gone_ … Merrill had been even more afraid and apprehensive about succeeding Keeper Marethari than she had been already.

At least she didn’t have to worry about being the Keeper’s First anymore in the alienage.

Despite its crowdedness, living in the alienage felt much more lonely than living with the clan. The one good thing Merrill could say about it, she supposed, was that unlike her clan, at least nobody in the alienage hated her… although some days it felt like being ignored was worse than being hated.

If it hadn’t been for Hawke, Merrill wouldn’t even _have_ any friends in Kirkwall.

Funny how she got on better with humans — with _shemlen_ she wasn’t even sure she always understood — than with elves. Even Fenris didn’t seem to like her much.

Merrill sighed to herself. Three years in this _shemlen_ city, and it was still such a far cry from growing up wandering with the Dalish, secretly falling for beautiful Mahariel and never being able to tell her — but then Mahariel got engaged to the equally attractive Tamlen, and Merrill had to keep her heartbreak to herself…

Their union was the happy event that had been fast-approaching, with Merrill forcing a smile as she sealed away her feelings forevermore. Until… until _that day_ , that horrifying mystery that happened in the cave — a tainted mirror, two of the clan’s best hunters lost, and a sudden need to pack up and move ahead of schedule.

If Merrill hadn’t come to Kirkwall, there was no telling what the clan would have done. Her pleas that the eluvian would help restore lost elvhen history, and discover what had happened to the clan’s two best-loved hunters, had fallen on deaf ears. Without Tamlen and Mahariel there to defend her, without the support of the Keeper, hostilities towards Merrill had reached fever pitch. The clan had always looked down on city elves for choosing to live among their _shemlen_ enemies; but what could have been worse than Merrill coming to live among the enemy if it meant she was safe? She already _was_ the enemy. The clan would have eventually driven her out at best, or struck her down ‘before she becomes possessed’ at worst.

Here, at least, she’d been able to grieve Tamlen and Mahariel in peace for the past few years. Here, at least, she was free. Even free to make friends with much-hated _shems_ who’d treated her far better than her clan ever had.

As she approached her front door, Merrill was surprised to see a familiar stocky — and decidedly non-elven — figure turn towards her. It wasn’t hugely unusual to see non-elves in the Kirkwall alienage — many of its residents either had merchant suppliers and contacts from outside, or worked on the docks and had co-workers deliver messages — but it was _definitely_ unusual to see a beardless dwarf. Varric trotted over to her with a grin on his face, and Merrill couldn’t be more relieved to see him.

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Daisy,’ he said. ‘Got lost again? Here, I’ll help you with your shopping.’

‘I forgot my ball of twine,’ Merrill explained apologetically, freeing herself from the last of the rubbish she’d unwittingly collected, and entering her home. ‘I spent hours getting lost, and I only went out for a loaf of bread! I’ll never ever be able to get anything else done each day at this rate!’

‘There, there, Daisy,’ Varric reassured her, putting the bread she’d bought down on the table that made up her kitchen area. ‘I came to give you the latest chapter of _Hard In Hightown_ , and take you to the Hanged Man. Sadly, I can’t join you — I’ve got something with Hawke tonight — but Isabela requests your presence if you’re not busy?’

‘No, of course not!’ Merrill exclaimed. ‘Of course I’m not busy. I’ll read this—’ she put the freshly printed latest chapter of _Hard In Hightown_ on a nearby table ‘—when I get back, of course. I’d love to see Isabela again. Shall we go?’

The sun was sinking in its clear blue sky when they arrived at the Hanged Man, heralding the beginning of a beautiful sunset Merrill couldn’t usually see from the densely packed buildings in the alienage. Varric pushed open the tavern door for her and said his friendly farewell as he departed, and Merrill headed towards the bar.

‘Isabela!’ Merrill greeted her happily, before she noticed the dark-haired, strapping swordsman in familiar civilian clothes standing next to her. ‘…Carver?’

‘Hello, Merrill,’ he smiled at her, and Merrill could only stare at him open-mouthed. What was the meaning of all this?

‘Merrill!’ Isabela’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Glad to see Varric got you here safely. Care for a drink?’

Merrill nodded, and Isabela leaned across the bar and ordered the usual glass of weak ale. Before Merrill could speak to Isabela again, however, the pirate’s attention was seemingly diverted by the latest bad verse from the Hanged Man’s resident poet. Carver stood between Isabela and Merrill, sipping his tankard of beer in silence as they waited for Corff to serve her drink.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here,’ Merrill eventually said to Carver.

‘I had the evening off,’ Carver told her. ‘Isabela invited me here for a few drinks before I go and visit Mother in Hightown.’

‘I suppose that’s why you’re not in your templar armour,’ Merrill said, musing aloud, ‘if you’re spending the night at Hawke’s Estate.’

A look flashed across Carver’s face at the mention of Hawke, but it was gone before he spoke again. ‘Um. I suppose so…? I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable…’ He smiled at her again — a tight, awkward, hopeful thing. His eyes were very blue, Merrill noticed; a bit like how the sky opposite the sunset had been, just before the deep blue twilight closed in.

‘Oh, you didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, Carver!’ she lied, shifting her gaze down from his eyes to his bare, brawny arms. _Creators, when did this boy get so big?_ she wondered. _He’s always had big biceps_ — _is it me or have they got bigger? Maybe it’s all that templar-ing._ ‘Well,’ she clarified, ‘I mean, your _armour_ didn’t make me uncomfortable, anyway. Not once I saw your head on the top of it?’

‘That’s… that’s good,’ Carver muttered, ‘but—wait—my _armour_ didn’t make you uncomfortable…? Not when my head… but…’ He subsided, seemingly confused, before quietly mumbling to himself: ‘Maker, Merrill. How do you still muddle me?’

Merrill was unsure how to answer that, and was unsure if she was even supposed to answer that, but fortunately Corff approaching them with a glass of weak ale broke the silence. ‘Oh, look,’ she started, grateful for the change in subject, ‘that’s my drink, I should pay…’

‘I’ll get it for you,’ Carver cut in; he already had the coins ready in his hand, and what was that all about? It was almost as if he’d been ready to get Merrill’s drink before she was. Humans were strange sometimes.

And Carver Hawke was _particularly_ puzzling.

Sometimes he did and said things and she was _so sure_ she was missing something, but she didn’t know what; and sometimes he just… seemed awkward around her, and she didn’t know why. It couldn’t be that he disliked her; Carver seemed very straightforward about things like that — she’d seen him and Anders carping at each other, she’d seen him snap at Aveline, she’d seen him grumble at Isabela and Varric. Creators, she’d even heard him annoyed at _Fenris_ , and he actually had a lot of respect for Fenris.

Maybe she just made him nervous? Perhaps it was the apostate blood mage thing making him uncomfortable; he was a templar now, after all. Or maybe she was wrong and he actually _did_ dislike her. Humans could be _so_ confusing.

Once Carver paid Corff, Merrill sipped her glass, grimacing a little at the taste, and hoping Isabela would be free to talk to her again soon. For some reason, Isabela was expressing far more interest in the poet’s terrible verse than Merrill had ever seen her do.

‘So, Merrill,’ Carver began. ‘Er… How’ve you been since I last saw you?’

‘Oh, well, the same, really,’ Merrill said. ‘Not a lot has happened. I still keep getting lost to and from the Lowtown Market every day. It takes up so much of my day just to get back to the alienage. And today I got lost for a whole six hours because I forgot the ball of twine Varric gave me.’

‘You got lost for six hours? But… haven’t you been living here for three years?’

Merrill sighed, exasperated. ‘That’s what the alienage _hahren_ said earlier,’ she said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice. ‘ _She_ didn’t understand either. And then the other elves laughed at me. I think it was the first time anybody else in the alienage actually noticed I exist.’

‘Shit. I’m sorry, Merrill. I didn’t mean—’ and Carver held his hands up as if in protest; Merrill was surprised how contrite he was. ‘I really didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t laugh at you.’

He offered her a small, apologetic smile, and Merrill felt her annoyance dissipate. Carver might be a _shemlen_ , but he seemed nice enough, and it really wasn’t his fault other elves treated her as they did. ‘ _Ma serannas_ , Carver. I’m sorry I snapped at you.’

‘It’s OK. I don’t blame you, I didn’t mean to remind you of it. I would be annoyed too if they’d laughed at me instead of trying to help.’

‘Oh, well, I suppose it wasn’t too bad in the end. Varric was waiting for me at home so he could drop me off at the Hanged Man this evening, because Isabela didn’t want me getting lost again.’

 _But now Isabela’s not even talking to me_ , she puzzled, _and what’s that all about? And she invited Carver here, and now she’s ignoring him, too. Poor Carver, forced to spend time with me when he’d probably rather be back among the templars in the Gallows_.

‘That’s nice of him,’ Carver was saying; for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind that Isabela had her back to him.

‘Yes, it was.’ Merrill took a sip of weak ale, then cradled her glass in both hands on the bar top. ‘It was nice to see a friendly face in the alienage at the end of a long day.’

‘Do the other elves really ignore you?’

Carver’s blue eyes were full of concern; his hand slid across the bar towards hers as if he meant to take one of her hands in his, and as Merrill looked down in surprise his hand suddenly drew to a halt, resting close to her own without touching them. His hands were large, Merrill idly noted, especially next to her own long, thin fingers.

‘They do,’ Merrill replied, sadly. ‘I just—I just never thought the alienage would be so lonely. I’m Dalish so I already don’t have much in common with the other elves, but even when I’ve mustered up the courage to talk to them, it’s like I don’t even exist.’

‘I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to talk to you,’ Carver said, his tone soft; it warmed Merrill’s heart to hear it, to hear that there was at least one person in Kirkwall that _didn’t_ think she wasn’t worth knowing. Well, apart from Varric and Hawke and Isabela… where _was_ Isabela this evening?

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Merrill eventually said. She sighed. ‘Hawke told me it wouldn’t be long before I’d made friends in the alienage, but it’s been three years and I still don’t really talk to anyone. I don’t even get mugged!’

Carver seemed startled. ‘But… isn’t not getting mugged a good thing?’

‘Is it? I just thought it meant they must not like me.’ Merrill took another sip from her glass, eyes idly resting on where Carver’s hand now lay flat on the bar; she could feel the heat coming off his arm on her body. ‘But enough about me,’ she said, looking up at him as she changed the subject. ‘Tell me about the templars! I bet you’re doing _really_ well.’

‘Erm, well, I’m not so sure about that. I mean, I’m not a recruit anymore, I suppose.’

‘I never saw you in your templar armour before. I thought it was very interesting,’ Merrill chattered brightly. ‘I mean, you look like a templar, but I know you’re also Carver, and that’s good.’

‘Um. Thanks, Merrill.’

‘So,’ Isabela chimed in at last, and both Carver and Merrill turned to her in surprise, ‘sorry to keep you both waiting. I just had to… listen to some poetry. Shall we find somewhere to sit?’

At the mention of ‘listen to some poetry’, Carver raised a disbelieving eyebrow at Isabela, but she just grinned and winked at him. Merrill frowned. What _was_ Isabela up to?

The evening passed pleasantly enough. Carver bought Merrill dinner again, much to her surprise (Isabela insisted on paying for her own meal), and they all chatted. Or rather, Isabela tried to keep conversation flowing, and Carver chatted mainly to Isabela. Somehow, Merrill observed, he seemed much more relaxed in Isabela’s company than he was in hers; although every so often she’d catch him staring at her, and he’d sharply turn his head away every time her eyes met his, and start talking to Isabela again.

The problem with being friends with Isabela, thought Merrill as the other two exchanged animated banter, is that you had to accept being overlooked for Isabela’s brazen attractiveness, razor-sharp wit and envy-inducing social ease. And Merrill couldn’t even hate Isabela for it — the pirate was one of the nicest people Merrill knew, and Merrill had always been grateful for her kindness. Isabela had taken Merrill under her wing like the big sister Merrill had always wished she had; and the young elf couldn’t help being awed by her, and wished she could be more like her.

‘Do you know how long the Chant of Light is?’ Carver said at one point, smirking at Isabela as she leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying herself. ‘How much stamina it requires?’

‘Go on.’

‘“With passion’d breath comes darkness”,’ Carver recited, emphasising the relevant words, ‘“but with many against Her, She finds His light untiring as it parts the Veil”.’

Isabela snorted in amusement. ‘Not sure if I’m aroused or scared. I like it.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Merrill commented. ‘Carver, were you trying to make the Chant of Light sound like a dirty thing?’

‘Trying?’ Isabela laughed uproariously. ‘Kitten, I think Carver went beyond just _trying_ to make it a dirty thing, sweetheart.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill said, although she didn’t see it at all.

‘I can explain to you later, if you like,’ Carver said gently, as Isabela continued sniggering. There was something so warm and encouraging in his blue eyes, and Merrill wanted to trust him… but there were still so many things she didn’t understand. Why was he here at all, having avoided them all so studiously for three years? Had he and his brother made up in Château Haine?

‘Are you talking to Hawke again?’ Merrill asked.

Carver looked surprised at the sudden change of subject, but his tone was guarded. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘But aren’t you visiting Leandra for the night? Won’t Hawke be there?’

Carver grimly set his jaw. ‘No, he’ll be out. We still don’t talk or see each other. Mother said he won’t be in, but she doesn’t know what he’s up to. And neither do I.’

Merrill decided not to press the topic anymore; clearly the strained relationship between the Hawke brothers was a sore point. Fortunately, Isabela lightened the mood with one of her bawdy pirate tales, and Merrill was glad. Despite the fact that Carver said no more to her, she noticed his gaze kept returning to her — even when Isabela stretched her arms out and arched her back, displaying so much of her impressively ample breasts that Merrill herself couldn’t help looking.

‘Do I have something on my face?’ she asked him when she could stand it no more.

‘What?’

‘You keep… looking at me,’ Merrill explained, feeling embarrassed now, as Carver blushed. ‘Do I have something on my face? Apart from _vallaslin_ , obviously.’

‘Well, maybe,’ Isabela smirked, as Carver glanced away and reached up to feel the back of his neck, ‘he just wants to look at you, Kitten.’

Carver was now staring at the table, face as red as the Chantry sun.

‘But why would he want to do that?’ Merrill queried, while inwardly she was kicking herself for ever asking such an awkward question; she was never going to get a straight answer from Isabela, and she appeared to have embarrassed Carver again. ‘Is it because I’m an elf? Maybe they don’t have a lot of elves in the Gallows. I’m sure there aren’t any elves among the templars in Kirkwall.’

‘There aren’t any elves among the templars in Kirkwall,’ Carver confirmed, seizing on her words gratefully; Isabela rolled her eyes at him, and Merrill just felt even more clueless.

‘I’ve missed something again,’ Merrill murmured sadly to herself. ‘And I know I’ve said something wrong again… shut up, Merrill…’

She tried avoiding catching Carver’s eye for the rest of the evening, but despite the playful banter he traded with Isabela — and the pirate’s raucous laugh at some jokes Merrill wasn’t sure she understood — she knew he continued to glance at her. Sometimes their eyes met, and sometimes it was Merrill’s turn to look away, confused and agitated, and she wasn’t sure why.

It was all very perplexing, Merrill thought, why Isabela was suddenly inviting Carver to their evenings at the Hanged Man. Clearly _something_ had happened at Château Haine, although apparently he hadn’t made up with Hawke and Isabela hadn’t slept with him.

But maybe Isabela wanted to? Maybe she kept inviting Carver here as part of a seduction plan? Merrill wasn’t sure that sounded much like Isabela — who went straight after what she wanted without hesitation — but she couldn’t think of any other explanation. Maybe Carver just needed a bit more wining and dining before Isabela could get him into bed? He was awkward around Merrill, even though he bought her drinks today and dinner again and promised Isabela that he’d get Merrill home safely.

Perhaps he was behaving like a gentleman towards her to impress Isabela. He _definitely_ wasn’t awkward around Isabela. Perhaps he returned Isabela’s interest: Isabela had said she was intrigued and impressed with him, after all, and he did seem to enjoy her company tonight. Conversation between Carver and Isabela had flowed fairly easily, and Carver seemed largely entertained by Isabela’s suggestive banter. Before he joined the templars, Isabela’s _double entendres_ and saucy teasing had often rendered him uncomfortable and surly.

No, he definitely wasn’t awkward around Isabela any more. He’d grown up a bit, and not just physically. And Isabela seemed to enjoy it.

Merrill wasn’t entirely sure where she fit into this possible scheme of Isabela’s, or even why Isabela invited her to witness it all. The fact that no one would tell her what was going on was somewhat discomfiting — but, if it helped her friend Isabela get what she wanted, Merrill firmly decided, then she would be happy to play her part… even if she wasn’t quite sure yet what that part was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver walks back to the Gallows after visiting Leandra on his night off, and bumps into someone he didn't expect to.

_Would talking to Merrill ever get less awkward?_ Carver wondered miserably, as he walked from the Hawke Estate to the docks to get a boat back to the Gallows. He’d followed the tips Isabela had given him this time — trying to smile at her more, trying to say kind and encouraging things — but it seemed as if talking to her three years ago had been much easier than talking to her now.

At least they’d actually been genuinely friends back then, rather than whatever stumbling around they were doing now. She’d been the one who’d finally convinced him that joining the templars wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He’d been so hurt and angry when Garrett left him behind from the Deep Roads Expedition that Carver had, admittedly, initially come up with the idea purely to spite his brother — but the more he’d thought about it during the following weeks, the more he realised there wasn’t much else he could do with his skills and training. What other work could there be for a penniless Fereldan refugee ex-soldier in this town, when Aveline had persuaded the guards to refuse him, and his only other options were being exploited down the Bone Pit, exploited on the docks, or working as an underpaid hired thug?

If Garrett didn’t survive the Deep Roads, it would have been solely up to him to support Mother (and Gamlen’s wasteful habits) with whatever he earned. The Templar Order paid well, trained well, allowed him to prevent some of Kirkwall’s maleficars from attacking the city, and — most important of all — allowed him the chance to divert the Order’s eyes from his family if Garrett ever came home.

Sure, the Order wasn’t the safest or nicest work, but what else was there for someone in his particular circumstances? _He_ wasn’t to know that Garrett would return from his expedition, gloriously rich and successful, instead of dying horribly at the hands of some darkspawn.

Merrill had understood when he’d explained all this to her at the time, much better than Mother and Garrett ever had. ‘You could really do some good in the templars, like Ser Maurevar,’ she’d agreed, ever the optimist. ‘Creators knows they need it, if what Anders says is true.’

Walking Merrill back home yesterday after yet another floundering ‘date’ at the Hanged Man had gone… slightly better than it had done before. Well, ‘better’ in the sense that she didn’t run away as soon as she’d got to the alienage this time. Merrill still seemed nervous when he’d walked her back, though, rambling all the way home.

Not that Carver had minded. He could listen to her talk about everything and nothing all day, especially in that Dalish accent of hers. Following her thought processes as she darted from one seemingly unrelated topic to another had left him muddled; but he’d wanted to get inside her head, to know what she was thinking, to understand what made her tick. Even after all these years, she fascinated him as much as she confounded him.

The evening with Mother had been nice enough, until he’d seen the note by the front door as he left. _I came in and watered your plants! Your friend, Merrill_ — was all it said; yet Carver couldn’t help feeling a stab of jealousy that Garrett got to see so much more of the cute elf girl than he did.

The dark, overcast sky seemed to reflect his brooding as he walked down the stone steps that led from Hightown to Lowtown. The Lowtown market was bustling and noisy as usual, but Carver ignored it and strode straight on through the crowd until someone roughly collided with him with a shriek.

‘Hey!’ Carver started. ‘Watch where you’re… Merrill?’

Merrill gasped up at him as he reached out to catch her. ‘Carver? Oh, I’m so sorry I bumped into you! I suppose I just wasn’t looking where I was going, I’m so sorry!’

‘It’s OK,’ Carver said, as she grabbed onto his arm to catch her balance, dropping half her grocery shopping in the process. ‘Here,’ he said, trying to ignore her skin on his as her slender fingers wrapped around his bare bicep, ‘I’ll get it for you…’

It was only when Carver crouched down to retrieve her shopping, he realised his hand had landed on the small of her back in an attempt to pull her back towards him to steady her. His face burned as he retrieved her shopping bag and held it out to her.

‘Thank you,’ Merrill said, two spots of pink appearing in her pale cheeks underneath her delicate vallaslin; and Carver knew he was staring at her longer than he should but he couldn’t help it, she looked so pretty.

It was almost like the first time he laid eyes on her, when he and his brother met her at the Dalish camp near the Sundermount just over three years ago — he’d felt instantly protective towards this cute, seemingly vulnerable young elf with her nervous rambling. Except this time, it wasn’t just mere protectiveness he was feeling.

‘No problem. I… can walk you back home if you like? So you don’t spend all day getting lost again.’

‘Oh, that’s very kind of you,’ Merrill answered; Carver could see from her expression she hadn’t been expecting that. ‘But I’ve got more things I need to buy today — don’t you need to get back to the Gallows?’

Carver tried to smile as charmingly as he could. ‘I’m sure I can spare some time for a detour, if it means you get home safely.’

Merrill looked dubious, as though she thought Carver would be desperate to avoid that scenario after yesterday. ‘I—I’d like that. But—are you sure? I don’t want to say something wrong again…’

‘You didn’t say anything wrong, Merrill. And — yes, I would like to walk you home. To stop you getting lost, I mean. But only if you want me to, of course.’

Merrill beamed at him, her green eyes radiant. ‘That would be lovely. _Ma serannas, lethallin_.’

 _Lethallin_. ‘Friend’ in Dalish, as she’d explained to him so many moons ago. Surely that had to be a good sign if she was calling him that.

 _Then again_ , came the jeering voice in his head as he followed her round the market, secretly admiring her figure as she walked, _you don’t want to be_ just _her friend, do you Carver? What will the other templars do if they ever find out you want to fuck the blood mage that’s friends with your apostate brother?_ _Just because she’d look gorgeous on your cock doesn’t mean she_ should _be on your cock, Carver_.

‘Oi!’ yelled someone Merrill had collided with as she’d turned back to Carver to talk to him, ‘watch your fucking step, knife-ear!’

‘Piss off!’ Carver shouted, stepping between Merrill and her antagonist as the latter made to shove her to the ground. ‘Before I break your bloody nose!’

The man sized Carver up, taking in his clenched fists, muscular frame and the sword on his back; on deciding he would probably lose in a fight, he relented. ‘Well, tell your servant girl to watch her step next time,’ he growled, though it was without bite; on seeing Carver clench his fists even tighter he added: ‘Look, I’m sorry I called her a knife-ear, OK?’

‘Don’t apologise to me, you blighted idiot. Apologise to her. Now!’

The man turned resentfully to Merrill. ‘Sorry I called you a knife-ear,’ he grunted, before walking away; Carver heard him mutter ‘only if it stops that doglord elf-fucker killing me’ as he walked away, but decided to ignore it.

‘Thank you, Carver,’ Merrill said, quietly, ‘but it wasn’t necessary.’

‘I’m sorry. I know they probably say stuff like that to you all the time, but I didn’t like hearing it. Just doesn’t seem fair that people think they’ve got the right to give elves abuse just for being elves.’

Merrill looked at him curiously then, and Carver could feel his face go red again. ‘I suppose you know some of what it’s like,’ she eventually murmured, ‘from when you were a Fereldan refugee.’

‘Well, it’s not really the same, I know. Still doesn’t seem fair though. Giving you stick just for being an elf an’ all that.’

‘Oh, I just ignore it,’ Merrill said brightly, dusting some imaginary dirt off her tunic as she spoke. ‘As long as it’s just name-calling, it’s no more than the usual humans barking at me. They don’t normally try and physically attack me though,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘so I suppose I should thank you for stopping him. _Ma serannas_.’

‘Any time.’

They walked on through the market, and Carver started to suspect Merrill was glad he was there: instead of spending hours getting lost in the market looking for the things she needed, he was able to direct her straight to the stalls that sold what she wanted to buy. Merrill smiled up at him gratefully several times during their trip, and it made his heart thump in his chest each time.

‘Car-ver,’ she’d said as they walked, in that singsong lilt of hers that he’d been delighted to hear again these past few weeks, ‘it was lovely to see you again.’

‘You too, Merrill.’

‘I don’t know when we’ll get to catch up again,’ Merrill went on, ‘but—oh! I’ve just realised — I forgot to ask you how things were going in the Gallows, and what being a templar was like, and how your swording was going…’

Carver smiled fondly in remembrance at her mention of _swording_ , though he thought it was better if he explained _that_ one another time. ‘Yeah, I suppose the training went alright. It’s hard work, though. Physically and mentally, I guess.’

‘Oh, but I’m sure you’re good at it! I’m sure you’re the best sworder in Kirkwall by now! Or will be.’

Carver fought the urge to say anything about calling him a ‘sworder’; the last thing he wanted to do was stop her talking again. He hated the fact that, until Isabela had pointed it out, he’d always been so caught up in his own awkwardness around her he’d never noticed how it had made _her_ feel, how his own embarrassment had made her so afraid to say ‘something wrong’ around him again.

‘I don’t know about that, Merrill, but thanks.’

The rest of the journey back to the alienage had been taken up with a discussion of two-handed swordsmanship, with Carver even demonstrating the odd move while Merrill watched him in wide-eyed, fascinated interest. By the time they got to Merrill’s front door, the awkward silence that had hung over them in the Hanged Man on the past two meetings had definitely thawed, although Carver couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed it was all over.

‘Oh, this was so nice,’ Merrill said. ‘I wish we could catch up more often, although I don’t know when I’ll see you again.’

‘I can write to you, if you like?’ he offered. ‘It won’t really make up for what I didn’t do all these years, and—well, I probably can’t say too much as a templar—but I can try?’

‘Oh, I’d love that!’ Merrill exclaimed happily. ‘I’ve never received a letter before! I know other members of my clan did, and sometimes we got letters to the whole clan, but I never had anyone to write to _me_.’

‘Then I’ll write to you,’ Carver decided aloud. ‘I’ll tell you all about what being a templar has been like, and you tell me all about what the alienage is like.’

Merrill squeaked in joy, bouncing on her toes; it made Carver grin like an idiot again, but it was nice to know he was making her happy for once instead of disappointing her again. ‘I can’t wait! Thank you, Carver. I am _so_ looking forward to that.’  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leandra invites Merrill to tea, and Merrill is crushed to learn Hawke's feelings for Anders are deeper than she'd hoped. 
> 
> (I know, this chapter is blatantly and unapologetically British.)

‘Oh! Creators, I’m so sorry, Leandra, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I didn’t know you were here,’ Merrill started, looking up as Hawke’s mother entered the estate’s large, sumptuous library. ‘I came to water Hawke’s plants again. They looked so lonely.’

‘Merrill,’ Leandra greeted her politely. ‘Any friend of my sons is always welcome here. I know Garrett really does appreciate it when you water his plants. Maker knows he’d only forget otherwise.’

‘Thank you,’ Merrill said, as she finished watering the pot plant on the library’s writing desk. ‘I bought this one as a present for Hawke. I thought he needed some green about the place.’

‘It is lovely,’ Leandra agreed. ‘I’m so pleased that both my sons have found such good friends in Kirkwall. Care to join me for tea, since you’re here?’

‘Oh! I’d like that. _Ma serannas_ — I mean, thank you.’

Fifteen minutes later, Merrill and Leandra were sitting around a table in the drawing room, a huge china pot of steaming tea between them, and a whole host of dainty metal contraptions Merrill had never seen before and had no idea how to use.

‘I feel I should get to know you better,’ Leandra began, taking one of the metal contraptions — something that looked a pair of miniature metal tongs — to pick up a cube of sugar, which she dropped with a delicate _clink_ into her white china teacup. ‘I understand you’ve seen quite a bit of my younger son recently.’

‘Carver? Yes. Isabela invited him to the Hanged Man twice over the last few weeks,’ Merrill said absently, watching Leandra take the metal device that looked like a mini-sieve and placed it neatly over her teacup before pouring the teapot’s hot brown liquid onto it. ‘Leandra, I’m sorry, but what is that?’

‘A tea strainer,’ Leandra answered, ‘for keeping the tea leaves out.’ She placed the wet tea strainer into its equally dinky silver bowl and pushed the entire thing over towards Merrill. ‘It’s the way nobles prepare and drink their tea.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill said, confused as to why so many tiny instruments were needed for what was supposed to be the most basic of drinks. Why didn’t Leandra drink the leaves in her tea now that she was a Hightown noble? None of the Hawkes had seemed to mind about tea leaves when they lived in Lowtown. _Humans_. Merrill dutifully copied what Leandra had done, including the sugar and the splash of milk in her teacup before mixing it all up; while she had to admit the resulting hot drink was nice, it just all seemed a bit excessive for something that was supposed to be as simple and homely as a cup of tea.

‘Oh, of course — I imagine the Dalish don’t have such a thing,’ Leandra said. ‘That’s right, isn’t it? You are Dalish?’

‘I am,’ Merrill answered, wondering where this was all leading. _Elgar’nan, I hope she doesn’t ask me why I had to leave my clan_.

‘I confess, I know very little about Dalish elves. What do the Dalish usually drink?’

‘Oh, we do have tea. Usually whatever edible herbs we come across when our clan settles in a place. Mostly we dry them and boil them and drink them with the leaves in. So not really different from the tea I used to have whenever I visited your place in Lowtown.’

‘Fascinating.’ Leandra took an elegant sip from her teacup. ‘It must have been quite a shock for you, moving to the city.’

The sadness and loss rose again, and Merrill waited till it subsided a little before speaking. ‘Yes. Yes it was.’

‘I understand you are also an apostate?’

Merrill looked startled. ‘I… am, yes.’

‘Yes, I thought that was what Carver had said. He speaks,’ Leandra paused as she searched for the right word, ‘highly of you.’

‘Oh.’ Merrill hadn’t been expecting that. ‘That’s nice of him. He and Hawke have always been very kind to me.’

‘I’m sure they have good reason to be,’ Leandra replied graciously as she sipped her tea. ‘Carver is… not the most talkative, when it comes to what he’s getting up to… but when he last visited the estate,’ and here Leandra gave Merrill a lopsided smile, ‘I found it curious he mentioned you rather more than I’ve heard him mention most people.’

‘Oh, was this the other night? Because Isabela invited him for a few drinks before he came to visit you,’ Merrill explained. ‘Which was nice of her. She’s invited him out with us twice now, ever since they all came back from Château Haine.’

‘Yes, he did mention Isabela had invited him out these past few times, and that he’d gone along for once. But, I suppose, as his mother,’ and Leandra smiled pointedly at Merrill again for some reason Merrill couldn’t discern, ‘I can’t help wondering what’s changed.’

Merrill sipped her tea. She had no idea why Leandra thought _she_ would know, of all people. ‘Perhaps he just wants to see Isabela?’

‘Isabela,’ Leandra repeated.

‘Yes. Perhaps something happened between them while they were out of Kirkwall? They seem ve-ry friendly with each other all of a sudden.’

‘Oh.’ Leandra settled her teacup back into its saucer. ‘I see.’

They sat there in silence for a while, Leandra quietly drinking her tea while Merrill frowned at hers, puzzling over their conversation. It was no use; she was confused again.

‘Leandra,’ she started slowly, as the other woman looked at her in surprise, ‘am I missing something?’

‘Such as what, dear?’

‘I don’t know,’ Merrill said, ‘but sometimes people _say_ things, and I always feel like I’m missing something. Something that nobody wants to tell me, and I don’t know why.’

Leandra glanced at Merrill as she refilled her teacup; was that… _pity?_ … in the older woman’s eyes? ‘I am sure nobody means any harm by it. Would you like another cup of tea?’

‘I’d _love_ another cup. Thank you, Leandra.’

Merrill watched as Leandra placed the tea strainer over her cup before pouring the clear brown liquid onto it; she stared down at the soggy dark mush sitting in the tea strainer, feeling just as bemused as she had done when she’d first watched Leandra make the tea. It still seemed… all very unnecessary, using all these tools to make tea and avoiding tea leaves that weren’t going to cause harm if ingested. Perhaps nobles were just slightly more wasteful than the average human, Merrill decided, though it seemed rather silly why this kind of waste was a mark of social status.

No wonder Carver never cared much for their family’s new-found noble title and heritage. Hawke, however, seemed much more at ease with it.

But then, Merrill marvelled, Hawke seemed at ease with _everything_. No matter the situation, Hawke’s ability to make everything seem better and brighter with a quip and a smile never ceased to amaze: it was like magic that didn’t get him in trouble.

‘Sugar and milk?’ Leandra pushed both the sugar pot and tiny milk jug over, and Merrill dutifully made up her tea, and wondered what to say next. Perhaps Leandra would like to hear about her sons? Or about one of them, anyway. Mothers _did_ like hearing about their sons, didn’t they?

‘I saw Carver the day he left you to go back to the Gallows,’ was Merrill’s eventual attempt to revive the conversation.

‘Did you?’ Leandra put her teacup down. ‘How curious.’

‘Yes! I bumped into him in Lowtown market. He helped me with my shopping before he went back to the Gallows. I was really glad. I thought I was going to spend the day getting lost again, but it was really nice to have him help me.’

‘Interesting,’ was all Leandra said, and Merrill felt like she was being examined by her searching gaze. Her eyes were almost the same shade of blue as Carver’s, and Merrill found it unnerving.

‘It was very kind of him?’ Merrill volunteered.

‘I’m sure it was.’

‘It was. He offered to write to me, because… well, he knows I’ve been lonely in the alienage…’

‘Did he now?’ Leandra exclaimed, and Merrill was surprised at the sharpness in her tone. ‘How extraordinary. I’ve been nagging him to write to Garrett for years. Not one letter has passed between them!’

 _I’ve said something wrong again_ , thought Merrill. _I’ve probably even got Carver in trouble with his Mother over Hawke, and I didn’t even mean to_.

‘Well,’ Merrill laughed uneasily, ‘he might not write to me after all. Perhaps he was just being kind.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he wasn’t just being kind, dear,’ Leandra said, reverting back to her previous, graciously polite self. ‘Although it begs the question of why he’s not too busy to write to _you_ , when he insists he’s too busy to write to his brother.’ Leandra sipped her tea. ‘I suppose it’s not all Carver’s fault. I’ve been nagging Garrett to write to Carver for years, and he tells me he “forgets”.’

Merrill sighed. ‘They do love each other, deep down, I think. They’re just… Hawke is convinced Carver hates him, and Carver… he loves Hawke, he’s just terrible at showing it. And then Hawke gets offended, and Carver doesn’t deal with feelings very well, and then he just lashes out.’

Now it was Leandra’s turn to sigh. ‘You’re absolutely right, Merrill. Maker’s breath, they’re a mess. Both of them. Malcolm — their father — would have hated this. He adored his children; the last thing he’d have wanted was his beloved boys always at each other’s throats so.’

Merrill drank her tea while she considered Leandra’s words. ‘I don’t really want to interfere, but if Carver does write to me,’ she asked, ‘do you think I should ask him to write to Hawke? If it helps?’

‘That’s very sweet of you, Merrill. Only if you wish to, of course. He might actually listen to you. Maker knows he’s chosen to write to you over his remaining family.’

‘But… please don’t tell him off, Leandra? I think Carver is coping in the only way he knows how. I hadn’t even seen or heard from him for three years, and I’d always thought we were supposed to be friends before he joined the Order. But now he’s started talking to Isabela and me again, and he said it was… just easier for him to stay away. From all of us. Well, until now, by the looks of things.’

Leandra smiled. ‘You know,’ she said, finishing her second cup of tea, ‘perhaps I was wrong. You might actually be good for him, after all.’

Merrill was mystified as to what Leandra was talking about — _of course_ friends were good for each other, weren’t they? — but decided not to mention it. ‘Um, thanks? I try, I suppose…’

Leandra laughed. ‘Maker’s breath. Here am I, trying to find wives for both of them among the noble houses of Hightown; and there they are, stubbornly choosing their own paths and ignoring all my endeavours to secure a good match for them. I suppose I shouldn’t expect any better. I ran off with their father, despite my betrothal to another noble. I can’t really begrudge my sons deciding to do the same.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill said. Somehow the conversation had taken a twist Merrill hadn’t seen, and ended up on a track Merrill hadn’t expected. Not to mention one that (unintentionally, on Leandra’s part) reminded her of her subjugated status as an elf, and an elf that probably _shouldn’t_ be so involved with the Hawkes of Hightown. ‘I… I didn’t know.’

‘Oh yes. The Reinhardt’s second daughter was very interested in meeting Garrett. But Garrett seems… rather less interested in getting a wife. I have tried to impress on both my sons their noble duty to continue the family, but they won’t hear any of it.’ Leandra smiled wistfully. ‘And after I ran away with their apostate father, I am probably not the best person to persuade them. Would you like another cup of tea?’

‘That will be lovely,’ Merrill said, relieved at the change of subject, ‘but I can pour it this time, Leandra, don’t worry…’

‘Merrill!’ A warm, pleasantly rich, male voice filled the room, and both women turned to the owner of the familiar baritone. Hawke himself stood in the doorway of the drawing room, grinning at both before striding over to put a friendly hand on her shoulder, and Merrill almost spilled her tea at his touch. ‘And Mother, having tea together? What a wonderful surprise. Care for me to join you?’

‘Hawke!’ Merrill beamed as Hawke sat down, turning on his most charming smile at her. ‘It’s so lovely to see you. Leandra most kindly invited me to tea after I came in and watered your plants.’

‘Awww. You’re way too nice,’ Hawke said affectionately, teeth neat and white under his equally neat dark beard. _He’s so handsome_ , Merrill sighed in her head, as Hawke spoke to Leandra. ‘And how gracious of you, Mother, to invite one of my very favourite people to tea.’

‘Well, I had to entertain Merrill somehow,’ Leandra sniffed, while Merrill blushed at the mention of being one of Hawke’s _very favourite people_. ‘You were out, and I didn’t know where you were.’

‘I was helping Anders at the clinic.’ At the mention of Anders, Hawke’s amber eyes softened a little, and Merrill’s raised hopes fell again. ‘He’s been a little stressed recently. I thought he could do with the help.’

‘I’ve seen the way you and that Anders fellow look at each other,’ Leandra said, as Sandal silently pulled up a chair for Hawke and refilled the teapot with hot water. ‘Is there something you’d like to share with your mother?’

‘Enchantment?’ Sandal asked.

‘Yes, I would like a teacup, Sandal. Thank you,’ replied Hawke, and Sandal left the room. ‘This tea-set looks new, Mother. Where did you get it?’

‘From Hightown market. It’s rather pretty, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Merrill’s _much_ prettier,’ Hawke said, grinning at Merrill, who felt the blush creep into her cheeks again. Hawke _always_ knew what to say to make her feel better, and Merrill couldn’t help her weakness for his honeyed words.

But Merrill’s basking in the glow of Hawke’s compliment was short-lived.

‘You’re deflecting again, Garrett,’ Leandra pressed. ‘There is… something there between you and Anders, isn’t there?’

Hawke visibly stiffened, and Merrill’s heart sank at the look on his face. ‘Anders is a very good friend of mine.’

‘Is he one of your favourite people too, Hawke?’ Merrill asked.

‘He is indeed,’ Hawke said, not looking at her, and Merrill felt like a fool once again.

Hawke only had eyes for Anders. Of course he would. Nobody ever looked at Merrill; she was the sweet, innocent, naïve elf, everyone’s favourite little sister, but that was it. Mahariel, and now Hawke — Merrill was destined to be always overlooked in favour of another.

Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing in this case, she tried to tell herself. Not only did Hawke only have eyes for Anders, Hawke was a _shemlen_. Even if Merrill’s clan weren’t there to express their horror that she found a _shemlen_ man attractive… Well. Finding a human attractive was fine if she kept it secret; acting on it, or stupidly hoping for more, was a whole different matter. Perhaps it was a good thing after all.

‘Well,’ Merrill said brightly to cover up her disappointment. ‘I suppose you’ve been spending a lot of time together…’

‘Don’t worry, Merrill.’ Hawke grinned at her again; as alluring as it was, Merrill noticed the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and she wondered how she hadn’t seen that before. ‘You’ll always be my number one girl.’

Leandra rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sure I’ve heard you tell Isabela and Aveline that too.’

‘Honestly, Mother. You make it sound like I’ve got quite the harem.’

Outwardly Merrill giggled, but inwardly she felt crushed. All those charismatic things Hawke said and did? Turned out they had never meant anything; they were never more than a casual, meaningless flirtation on his part, and Merrill had been in denial about it all this time. _Why_ on earth had she ever allowed herself to feel this way?

Hawke had made her feel special; but she wasn’t special, not really. Not to Hawke. Not to anyone.

‘Speaking of harems, Leandra had been telling me she was trying to find wives for you and Carver,’ Merrill started, attempting again to hide how despondent she felt, ‘but that you said no.’

‘Did she. How interesting.’

‘Well, as I was just telling Merrill,’ Leandra began, somewhat futilely, ‘the Reinhardt’s second daughter was very interested in meeting you…’

‘And I’ve told you, Mother, I’m not interested,’ Hawke cut in. ‘You’ll have to look to Carver to produce your heirs, not me. Though Maker knows if Carver can actually find a girl who can tolerate him without him paying her…’

‘Garrett, please!’ Leandra snapped, and Merrill found herself strangely annoyed at Hawke for some reason. Was Hawke always this mean to Carver? Why had Merrill not noticed it before? Had she really been so taken by Hawke’s good looks and charm that she ignored how often he was unnecessarily mean about a brother some six years younger?

‘What?’ Hawke shrugged. ‘Carver deserves it. He’s a twat.’

‘Garrett!’ Leandra was appalled. ‘He is your little brother. Don’t be so hard on him.’

‘Why not? He’s a shit of the highest order. Ask anyone.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t know what else you expected him to do — we all thought you had died in the Deep Roads!’

‘Oh, _come on_ , Mother. You weren’t happy he joined the templars either. It wasn’t just me.’

‘But he’s been fine since! Of course I’m not happy, but what else could we do? And beside which, the Templar Order is respected in Kirkwall.’

‘Then _you_ matchmake Carver,’ Hawke said rudely. ‘ _You_ find him a nice lady whom he doesn’t have to pay for and who can stand his ugly face.’

Merrill stood up. ‘I really should be going,’ she said, before her unexpected annoyance at Hawke’s attack on his brother got the better of her. ‘Thank you for the tea, Leandra, it was lovely.’

‘Oh, now look what you’ve done, Garrett,’ Leandra tutted under her breath. ‘Merrill, dear, please do feel free to stay.’

‘Well, you were the one who brought up Carver in the first place, Mother,’ Hawke replied, completely ignoring Merrill, who was squirming uncomfortably at being in the middle of a family fight. ‘Honestly, I don’t understand why we don’t just disown him. Father would’ve done…’

‘That’s enough, Garrett!’ Leandra’s face was red; Merrill had never seen her look so angry. ‘Malcolm would _never_ have disowned Carver, and you know it! He _named_ him for a templar – the one who allowed him to run away with me!’

Hawke laughed, bitterly. ‘You think Carver is anything like brave, reasonable, _noble_ Ser Maurevar? You forget I had to listen to him beating his meat over this one—’ was Hawke gesturing at _her_? Merrill wondered, or at something else? ‘—at Uncle Gamlen’s on the nights he drank his money away and couldn’t get any at the Blooming Rose…’

‘ENOUGH, GARRETT!’ Leandra was on her feet now, furious; Hawke stood up with her, readying for whatever came next.

‘I really should be off!’ Merrill shouted over all of them as she ran out of the room; she wanted to ask what ‘beating his meat’ meant, but a full-blown fight between Hawke and his mother — not to mention her own flash of irritation with Hawke — wasn’t the time. ‘Thank you for the tea again, Leandra, and I’ll see you soon, Hawke! _Dareth shiral!_ ’


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver writes a letter to Merrill, and Knight-Commander Meredith tasks him with helping her capture some familiar apostates. 
> 
> (The letter to Merrill is based on [this in-game letter to Hawke](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Letter:_Family_Letters), because I headcanon that he only knew what to write to Hawke after he wrote to Merrill; and the dialogue from the Circle mages in the Gallows regarding abuses is taken from the game.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's always bothered the hell out of me that from Act 2 onwards, Carver (if he joins the templars) shows up in Knight-Corporal armour - in other words, he's ranked above being an ordinary templar initiate. I know the boy is good at what he does, but come on, is he really _that_ good? He only joined the templars three years ago, and it takes _years_ to even pass your recruitment stage and actually _become_ a templar, from what I can see! 
> 
> I can see him not needing so much training and practice for the military side of things, because even at age 19 in Act 1 he was already a very strong, skilled and experienced swordsman - but surely he'd still need to spend some time learning the theological side of things (and learning to recite the entire Chant of Light). 
> 
> So... here's my headcanon for how and why he actually got his promotion to Knight-Corporal. Which may or may not have implications for later in "The Templar And The Blood Mage"... 
> 
> \----------

For Carver, writing to Merrill had proved easier than his attempts to write to Garrett — in fact, it was only once he’d tried to write to Merrill that he had been able to write the letter to his brother that he’d been trying to for three years.

Well. It had gone _easier_ , but that didn’t mean it had been _easy_. What else did you say to the girl you’d had a crush on since the moment you’d first laid eyes on her? How did you craft a letter that captured that perfect blend of friendly honesty and _maybe_ affectionate encouragement, while playing it cool at the same time? It had taken several drafts, screwed up in frustration and launched across the room, before Carver managed to pen one that he didn’t hate:

 

_Dear Merrill,_

_How are you? It was good to see you in the Lowtown market the other day, and great to see you looking so well. I’m glad I got to help you with your shopping and help you get home safely._

_Things are good here. Or as good as they can be, I suppose. It’s nice to have purpose, and to be good at something in my own right. Training as a recruit was tough. My Fereldan army experience meant that the military training wasn’t so bad, but learning to recite the entire Chant of Light was hard! I wasn’t completely lying when I said duty and training kept me busy. The Order makes sure of it._

_It was a relief when I got through. I’ve been an initiate for over a year now, but some of the recruits who joined at the same time as me haven’t got there yet. When you’re ready to take your vows, you undergo a vigil. That’s when you take your first draft of lyrium, and it gives you powers to deal with hostile magic should you need it. It takes some getting used to!_

_It’s not a perfect job. I knew when I joined that it wasn’t like being a knight, despite what Garrett thinks. I can’t always relate to my fellow recruits, because I didn’t grow up with the same fear of mages and magic they did (obviously). Also, I don’t really like what we do to mages. It keeps everyone safe, but many of our methods could use improvement. I think many mages understand we’re trying to help, but sometimes it’s hard to see where I can do good._

_I’d be lying if I said there weren’t extreme elements within the Order. Some have ideas I hope never take root, and I’ve heard of disturbing abuses going on. I’m just glad Bethany never had to live in a place like this._

_I’ll wrap this up. I’ve kept you long enough! Say hello to Isabela if you see her before I do._

_Write back when you can!_

_Carver_

 

Once Carver had finished, he dashed off a quick letter to his brother and sent both off. As he was walking back across the courtyard, he passed two mages — an elven man and a human woman — walking in the opposite direction. Neither of them seemed to notice or care that Carver was there, and the woman was clearly in distress.

Carver recognised her — the first Harrowing he’d had to supervise as a full initiate (under Cullen’s watchful eye) was that of her best friend, and the man had failed. When he’d opened his eyes and assured Carver he was fine — _too_ fine — Carver instinctively drew his sword on the man before he could even fully transform into whichever demon he’d allowed to possess him. Carver had been shaken; Cullen was proud, and while Carver had held his nerve in the face of Meredith’s praise for his quick thinking on his first-ever Harrowing, once Carver was on his own he broke down.

He’d had nightmares about the man for weeks; and he certainly hadn’t been able to look that apprentice’s best friend in the eye, either, her distress echoing in his dreams as a reminder of all the regrets he’d had since joining the Order. He’d avoided the woman for ages — until he was forced to supervise her own Harrowing, and Carver had been so relieved when she’d passed — and now, here she was again in front of him, just as distraught as she was when he’d killed her best friend.

‘I heard Ser Alrik placed the order for me to be made Tranquil,’ she wailed, seemingly unaware of Carver walking by. ‘I passed my Harrowing! He can’t do that!’

‘Many more of us have been given the Rite in recent days,’ her elven companion observed, shaking his head sadly.

 _Hmmm_ , thought Carver to himself. _I supervised her Harrowing. She passed it just fine. What’s going on?_

But before he could consider the matter further, Knight-Commander Meredith came marching across the courtyard, making a beeline for him, and Carver was forced to meet and address her.

‘Ser Carver. Just the man I wanted to speak to,’ she barked at him. ‘We have had reports that a group of Starkhaven mages have been spotted in some woods in the Free Marches. I want to bring them in.’

***

The woods that the Knight-Commander referred to were actually on the edge of the Planasene Forest, and not as far outside Kirkwall as Carver had first thought. Nonetheless, Knight-Commander Meredith had ensured they were well supplied before they set out, so Carver supposed they had prepared for a sojourn away from the Gallows of some duration rather than of some distance.

‘We have known these mages have been in these woods for quite a while,’ Meredith explained to Carver after they made camp, ‘but we have never been able to find them. Until recently, that is. But when Knight-Lieutenant Karras lost some of his men to their blood magic, he — sensibly — had to call for backup.’

‘Blood magic,’ repeated Carver, a thought occurring to him. ‘Knight-Commander, did you say these mages were from Starkhaven?’

‘Indeed,’ Meredith told him. ‘The Starkhaven Circle burned to the ground three years ago, and the Gallows was to house the survivors. A number of them escaped on the journey, and Ser Karras has been trying to track them ever since.’

‘Right,’ Carver said.

‘It has proved difficult, as their phylacteries were destroyed in the fire,’ Meredith continued. Her voice hardened. ‘It was made further difficult by Karras allowing himself to be fooled by the silver-tongued lies of a band of men on the Wounded Coast, supposedly led by an enchanter from Ferelden. Karras foolishly believed their story that _I_ had hired them to help “root out the rebel mages”, and the apostates escaped.’

 _I know_ , Carver thought to himself. _I was there when Varric told Karras that stupid blighted story — and Karras was dumb enough to believe it_. ‘I see,’ he said aloud.

‘Indeed,’ Meredith returned, wrinkling her nose in disgust. ‘Ser Karras even wrote his debrief afterwards commending the actions of this “Enchanter Hork” that I had supposedly called on for help. I told him I had heard of no such person.’

Carver grunted noncommittally. Sometimes, it was _really_ hard to keep a straight face in this job.

‘I know not who those men were,’ the Knight-Commander carried on, ‘and after being unable to turn up any clues as to who “Enchanter Hork” or his three companions were, we decided it was of no consequence.’ She paused. ‘I reprimanded Ser Thrask for his part in the apostates’ escape. Fortunately, Karras has redeemed himself somewhat, by tracking the mages down to these woods. He will be meeting us here at camp to detail more about what we will face.’

Meredith fixed her icy blue gaze squarely on Carver, her voice as cold and steely as her stare. ‘Be prepared for _anything_ , Ser Carver. These maleficarum kill templars on sight. And they use blood magic as a first resort.’

Carver nodded. From what he remembered about those Starkhaven mages, when he, Garrett, Varric and Anders had first encountered them in the cave they were hiding in on the Wounded Coast all those years ago, it had been a particularly horrifying, blood-soaked battle.

He still remembered his brother being tossed across the room like a ragdoll as if it were yesterday; he remembered his own scream of anguish and terror that Garrett had died at the blood mage Decimus’s hands; and he still remembered his utter incredulity when Garrett, back on his feet and fully healed by Anders, seemed to believe the assertions of Decimus’s lover, Grace, that she herself had not been involved in blood magic.

To this day, Carver couldn’t believe Garrett had let Grace and her compatriots walk free. Anders had practically stared at Garrett with heart-eyes, but once they’d got back from the Wounded Coast, Carver had railed at his brother over his decision. _This will come back to bite you in the arse one day, brother_ , he’d warned. _I trust that Grace even less than I’d trust her dead lover, and he was a blood mage_.

And now, here Carver was, getting ready to clear up the results of Garrett’s mess from three years ago. _Thanks, brother_.

***

Days of waiting, and the Starkhaven mages refused to be smoked out of their lair. Carver could even feel his patchy stubble beginning to grow through; Garrett would have had a full-on bush by now, but Carver had never been able to grow anything resembling a beard. Carver rubbed his hand over the five o’clock shadow that belied how long it took to actually grow it, and continued to watch the trees for any sign of movement. The lyrium he’d just ingested made him feel so bold and powerful he felt like he’d be able to take on a whole village of blood mages and win.

‘Stay sharp, Ser Carver,’ Meredith commanded him. ‘We are close.’

Carver nodded. He’d been a templar long enough that he knew how the lyrium lied easily to you, making you feel more powerful than you were and bolder than you should be. He remembered the first time he took it: how tingly and amazing it had made him feel, how he rode the high before the guilt and shame took over, remembering Father’s warnings about lyrium and templars. Carver had resolved not to take it as often as he should, in the hope that his addiction might not end up being so bad… but he really couldn’t escape it on a lengthy mission with the Knight-Commander herself.

Carver could feel Ser Alen and Ser Reddshert, two templars who’d graduated to becoming fully-fledged initiates around the same time as him, shiver as they crept forward. They were far more skittish than soldiers should be, and Carver could feel their jitters draining him. Carver couldn’t help feeling irritated; the last thing he wanted to do right now — especially after losing Ser Leroy to these mages just yesterday — was lose focus, especially if they were ambushed. He concentrated on the presence of the Knight-Commander in their little unit, steely and unwavering in her resolve no matter what she was up against, and took renewed courage from her.

And then everything happened all at once.

‘To arms!’ yelled Knight-Commander Meredith as Carver ran forward and Alen and Reddshert unslung their bows.

He could almost taste the blood on the air as he dodged out of the way of a spell, the mage’s blood swirling through the air like a heat-seeking missile as it searched for a templar target to attack. He heard Reddshert scream and fall with a thud while Meredith bellowed; and despite the Cleanse that Carver cast, demons rose up all around them, out of range at first, but they slithered towards him soon enough. Carver easily sliced through the first wave that came at him; but the fiery rage demons that came after were tougher, erupting suddenly from the ground with a roar and a smell of brimstone and sulphur… and they had so many blood mages to fight while being a man down.

‘Who’s laughing now, huh?’ Carver taunted the pride demon that had shaken the air with its hubristic, evil laughter when it rose, now howling as Carver’s sword cleaved into it, spilling ichor everywhere, and his nostrils burned at the smell it unleashed.

The demon roared, and swiped at Carver, who dodged again, and charged. His sword plunged deep into its soft, exposed underbelly with the grimmest squelch; the demon screamed and fell, and Carver was about to shout in triumph that he killed an enemy when he felt the arrow stab into his armour and pierce his shoulder blade.

It wasn’t a serious injury, but Maker, it stung like hell — almost as if it had been something much, much worse than a mere flesh wound from the graze of an arrow that had pierced at the shallowest of angles.

Carver wheeled round and saw Alen aim his bow at him again, cruel smirk on his face; but his glazed eyes told Carver that his fellow templar probably wasn’t acting on his own accord.

‘Alen, no!’ Carver ducked as an arrow came whizzing over his head, missing it by an inch. ‘What are you doing?’

Alen laughed a long, cruel laugh; but behind him Carver could see a woman with a tattooed eye, laughing in concordance with the templar, as if she was controlling Alen with her own mind and body movements, like a puppet, rather than entering the fight herself.

 _Grace. I knew my brother made a mistake letting her walk free_.

Carver ran towards her, about to cast Cleanse at her, but a wall of blood knocked him back. He rolled to one side and staggered to his feet, and the mage who’d cast the spell on him readied herself to cast another.

The mage — a man in Starkhaven robes — shot fire out of the end of his staff which hit Carver’s forearm, and Carver screamed; he slashed at the air with his sword, charged with righteous spirit fire, determined that both arms would still be useful despite the pain, before casting Cleanse again. The fire subsided as if it never existed, but the mage had danced out of reach and prepared to cast again. Carver ignored the searing pain of his forearm and lunged at him; the mage tried to parry with his staff but Carver knocked it clean away. Carver leapt into the air to crash down on the man with a Mighty Blow; the mage fell to the ground, covered in blood, a huge gash down his torso, and Carver moved in for the kill.

But the man merely laughed and raised his hands before Carver drove his sword through him — a split second too late, for the man’s dying act was to use his blood to raise the dead.

‘I’m ready and waiting!’ Carver shouted at the bodies that tottered to their feet. ‘Let’s see what you have!’

Meredith spun into his vision, and Carver was glad of the brute strength and sheer force of will of his Knight-Commander as she helped hack through the army of the undead that now threw themselves at him. Together, they slaughtered the demons, undead and blood mages that came at them, while Meredith had cast such a powerful Silence that Alen was himself again, although he lay whimpering on the ground. When Carver had put his sword through the final blood mage, who’d been in the middle of readying an attack on Meredith, Grace ran forward from the tree she was stationed behind with her hands in the air.

‘We surrender!’ Grace shouted, looking panicked. ‘Please don’t kill us! We’ll come peacefully!’

‘After setting blood magic on us?’ Meredith could not have been more fierce. ‘And killing Ser Reddshert? No. You will die now!’

‘No!’ screamed Grace as Meredith drew her bloodied sword.

‘No!’ yelled Ser Alen from his position on the ground, and Meredith held her hoisted sword aloft, stopped by surprise. ‘Some of these mages were just cowering behind — we don’t need to kill them all!’

‘ _She_ wasn’t!’ Carver yelled, incredulous at what he was hearing from his colleague.

‘We’re not all blood mages!’ sobbed Grace. ‘I warned the others, I warned them that’s that’s all anyone would see if they resorted to blood magic, and now they’re dead — and the rest of us—’ she gestured to where a group of visibly frightened mages were huddled; Carver could see that they hadn’t joined the fight themselves and genuinely _had_ just looked on in horror, ‘– are at risk of death because of their stupid actions! Living in the woods, eating carrion… we’ve all had enough of it and we surrender! We never wanted trouble, and we’re not all blood mages, I swear!’

‘Maybe _they’re_ not blood mages,’ Carver retorted, ‘but I don’t trust _you_ , though.’

Grace looked right at him, and from the expression that came over her face, Carver could tell she recognised him. ‘And how would you know that, ser?’ she challenged him through her tears. ‘Have we met before?’

‘Of course I—’ Carver started, before realising he was about to walk into her trap. If Carver addressed her by her name, or gave away anything else about her, Meredith would want to know how Carver knew her. And that would surely lead to Meredith finally putting two and two together as to who “Enchanter Hork” could possibly be. And he could not, he _would_ not, risk either his own neck or Garrett’s.

She had him, there. She had him good, and she knew it.

‘Of course I haven’t,’ Carver eventually snapped, sullen that he’d lost. ‘I—I just don’t trust you, that’s all. My instincts tell me you’re bad news.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Meredith, looking between Carver and Grace. Carver couldn’t tell what she was thinking, and he hated it.

‘I believe she was innocent,’ Alen said, wincing on the ground; his injuries looked dreadful. ‘I—I got possessed by a blood mage, but I don’t think it was her. I didn’t see her till now.’

‘Well, I did,’ stated Carver.

‘Oh, really,’ Grace said, furious through her tears (fake tears, Carver thought to himself). ‘And when would that have been? On the Wounded Coast, three years ago?’

‘Ser Carver,’ Knight-Commander Meredith barked. ‘What is she talking about?’

‘I don’t know,’ Carver answered. ‘I was talking about the battle just now, I dunno what _she’s_ referring to. I only joined the templars three years ago, I wouldn’t have been on Ser Karras’s raid.’

‘Hmmm,’ Meredith said again.

The other mages cowering with their hands up were sobbing; Carver could see they expected to be slaughtered on the spot, and he couldn’t help pitying them. They were just like Alain, really; they’d wanted a taste of freedom but didn’t want to resort to blood magic or fighting, they’d realised how useless they were at living outside of the Circle and the order and structure it provided, and now they just wanted to be taken in quietly.

‘Ser Karras,’ Meredith commanded, and Carver looked up to see Karras and his men appear; Carver didn’t know when they arrived or if they’d joined the battle. ‘Round these mages up, and escort them back to the Gallows. They will need to be interrogated and watched carefully. We shall hold them in quarantine, in case the other mages get any daring ideas of escape.’

‘Yes, Knight-Commander,’ Karras said.

‘If you need to give any of them the brand, you have my permission,’ Meredith said, to shocked gasps and sobs from the mages and louder wailing from Grace. ‘Do not be moved by any of their pleas of innocence. They may not have attacked templars or used blood magic themselves, but they consorted with blood mages. Guilt by association is not unreasonable in this case.’

‘I agree, Knight-Commander,’ simpered Karras, and Carver frowned.

‘Wait, no,’ Carver said, ‘That can’t be—there has to be a better way.’

The Knight-Commander turned her hard gaze on him. ‘After what you have just fought, how can you say that?’ she demanded. ‘We killed the blood mages who attacked us, it is true; but even _you_ have just said you have bad instincts about at least one of this group of so-called innocent apostates.’

‘I—’ Carver sighed; to explain about Grace, or even discuss her by name, would be to give the game away. He scanned the mages that Ser Karras and his men were herding away, but he could no longer spot Grace to point her out. ‘Yes, Knight-Commander. And I stand by that assessment — but only about one of them, not the rest.’

The Knight-Commander snorted. ‘You must always see the demon behind an innocent face, Ser Carver,’ she told him. ‘If alarm bells are ringing for you for just one of the mages, I cannot see how it can’t ring for them all. Who knows what influence, what evils, these blood mages can wreak on their fellows. They are all tainted by association, and I certainly don’t think it is unreasonable to extend a suspicious mind towards _all_ of them, rather than singling out just one.’

Carver sighed again; it was the second time he was forced into a position of defeat today, and to tell the Knight-Commander the truth was suicide. ‘Yes, Knight-Commander.’

‘Good. We should prepare to leave. Bring Reddshert’s body back to camp; I will deal with Alen.’

‘At once, Knight-Commander.’

Meredith surveyed him with a slight smile on her cold face; Carver couldn’t help finding it unnerving. ‘You fought well, Ser Carver,’ she stated, as if it were a matter of fact. ‘Fearlessly and determinedly, like a good templar should.’

Carver couldn’t help being taken aback. ‘Thank you, Knight-Commander.’

‘I should be thanking you,’ Meredith continued. ‘Fighting blood mages is not easy, yet you made it seem so. I must say, with you there it went much easier than other mage hunts that have ended in a bloodbath between templars and maleficarum.’

‘I did what had to be done, ser,’ Carver answered modestly. ‘They attacked me with blood magic, they killed Reddshert, they took over Alen’s mind and body before trying to kill him. It was either me or them.’

Meredith nodded in acknowledgement.

‘You are too modest, Ser Carver,’ Meredith said; and even with her perpetually hard voice, Carver could hear the approval and pride in it. ‘You fought well today, and have amply repaid the faith I have shown in you. I hope you continue to be a man who will do the hard, difficult things the Order needs you to do — but so far, you have proved you are not a man who is soft on blood mages.’


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill goes to the Hanged Man and finds Isabela has invited Carver along to celebrate his promotion. It doesn't go well.

Merrill had been surprised but delighted to receive Carver’s letter; she hadn’t expected that he’d actually write to her. She happily re-read it several times, touched that he’d written her such a long letter, before wondering what she would write back to him. She couldn’t really tell him how the elves were still ignoring her in the alienage, or that she was still getting lost to and from the Lowtown market every day, could she? And she _definitely_ couldn’t tell him about the eluvian shard. Perhaps she could write and tell him about all the things she saw and heard while she was getting lost? Yes, he’d probably like that.

It would give her something to write back, anyway. But that was for another day.

Today, Merrill was on her way to the Hanged Man, ball of twine unspooling in her hands, ignoring the disapproving stares around her. One of the last things Carver had written in his letter had been _say hello to Isabela if you see her before I do_ , and Isabela had invited Merrill to meet her at the tavern today. She could say hello from Carver to Isabela today, couldn’t she? Isabela would surely appreciate that. Surely Isabela would like that Carver had thought of her in his letter. Perhaps it meant Isabela’s seduction plan was working on him after all.

‘Merrill!’ Isabela called over as Merrill entered the rowdy Hanged Man and made her way to the bar. ‘Thank goodness you’re here at last — now we can celebrate.’

‘Celebrate what?’ asked Merrill, before her eyes fell on Carver, who was standing next to Isabela, staring at Merrill with a small smile on his face. Merrill dropped her gaze and noticed he was wearing a different style of templar armour than what she’d seen him in last time. The new metal shoulder plates were big and sort of pointy, for a start; it made his figure look bulkier than it had done already.

‘I’ve been promoted to Knight Corporal,’ Carver answered, and Merrill eyes widened. ‘So Isabela invited me down here to celebrate, and—I was just buying all of us drinks.’

‘Oh! Right,’ Merrill said. ‘Is that why you’re wearing new armour?’

‘Yeah. This is what a templar Knight Corporal wears.’

‘It… suits you, actually,’ Merrill said, cocking her head to one side and taking him in. ‘Not that you looked _bad_ in your armour before, but this looks _really_ good on you.’

Carver blushed, and Merrill worried whether she should have said that. ‘Thanks, Merrill,’ he stammered, and his shy smile reassured Merrill that perhaps she _didn’t_ say something wrong this time. Merrill smiled back at him; he really did look quite handsome, especially in his new armour, and she was sure Isabela would think so too.

‘So,’ Isabela herself cut in, satisfied smirk all over her face, and Merrill almost jumped in surprise at hearing the pirate’s voice. ‘Shall we sit down, and Ser Templar can tell us all about which brave heroic deed got him promoted?’

‘Thank you for your letter, by the way,’ Merrill said to Carver as they followed Isabela to a quieter, more private spot in the corner of the tavern. ‘I really liked it.’

‘What letter was this?’ Isabela asked as she sat down, drinks in hand. Carver sat down on one side of her, and Merrill was forced to sit on the other side of him. This seating arrangement had happened a few times now — it was almost like Isabela _wanted_ Merrill to sit next to Carver and not herself; as if Isabela just wanted to sit next to the templar and no-one else.

‘I wrote Merrill a letter,’ Carver explained. ‘I—we bumped into each other on my way back to the Gallows last time. I promised her I’d write and tell her all about what being a templar was like. So I did. Before I got promoted, that is.’

Isabela’s smirk couldn’t have got any wider or more smug. ‘Interesting,’ she purred. ‘How very _chivalrous_ of you, Ser Carver.’

‘Oh he was,’ Merrill effused. ‘He even asked me to say hello if I saw you before he did! I thought that was nice of him. He was obviously thinking of you, Isabela!’

Carver stared at Merrill, looking puzzled. Isabela tittered, and swigged her drink.

‘I’m sure it _was_ nice of him, Kitten,’ she said, still grinning like the cat that got the cream. ‘ _Polite_ , at least. So, how did you get promoted, Carver?’

Merrill was annoyed. Why was Isabela being so dismissive? Here she was, trying to help Isabela with whatever seduction scheme she’d laid for Carver, and Isabela was completely ignoring it. She frowned and sipped her watery ale, not even caring about the nervous glances Carver was shooting her way as he told them about the raid he’d been commended for by Knight Commander Meredith herself.

‘Mmmm, I remember Varric telling me all about those Starkhaven mages,’ Isabela was saying, and Merrill felt her irritation at the pirate rise. ‘All spite and anger and violence, and Varric seemed as if he was surprised Hawke let them go — from the sound of it, I expected that to come back to bite him in the arse.’

‘Yeah,’ Carver admitted. ‘That’s what I told my brother at the time, in the cave. They’re blood mages. They’re not like him and Bethany.’

‘Just because they were blood mages doesn’t mean they deserved to be dragged to the Gallows,’ Merrill snapped. ‘Blood mages aren’t inherently evil, you know.’

Carver opened and shut his mouth awkwardly, as if he’d registered what he’d just said. ‘I—no, Merrill. Of course.’

‘Kitten,’ Isabela began, and her smooth tone riled Merrill even more, ‘these mages were using blood magic to hurt and harm people. Carver had no choice.’

‘This wasn’t like the time you opened that barrier on the Sundermount,’ Carver protested, although Merrill thought it sounded hollow. ‘When we first met, I mean.’

‘Why does that matter?’ Merrill said, directing her fury fully at him now. ‘Arresting mages is what you do now, isn’t it? So who’s going to be next, Carver? Your brother? Or me? _I’m_ an “evil blood mage”, after all. As long as it helps you get promoted and earn Gallows approval, what’s one more mage to you?’

‘That’s not what I think,’ Carver said. Her outburst had clearly taken him by surprise. ‘That’s not what I think at all.’

‘You have no right to judge mages who use blood magic,’ Merrill continued, her voice shaky with anger and disappointment in him. ‘Blood magic is just another form of magic. Just because _some_ mages use blood magic for evil, doesn’t mean it _is_ evil. It’s just a tool.’

‘Merrill,’ Carver stuttered, ‘whether—whether blood magic is evil or not, even _you’ve_ got to admit it’s dangerous.’

‘ _All_ magic is dangerous,’ Merrill retorted. ‘Being a mage in itself is dangerous.’

‘Being a mage isn’t a choice, though. Blood magic is — and it’s often a bad one.’

‘Being a templar is a choice too. Are you going to tell me it’s never a bad one?’

A muscle jumped in Carver’s jaw, and Merrill belatedly realised she’d hit on a sore spot. That was curious. Did he regret becoming a templar after all?

But instead of lashing out, Carver seemed to try a different tack, though his voice was resentful. ‘What exactly is such a bad choice about defending against mages who use blood magic to try to kill or torture everyone?’

‘As if that’s all you templars do!’ Merrill cried. ‘What about the mages who aren’t blood mages? The ones you templars execute when they fail their Harrowings? The ones you make Tranquil because they can’t handle their magic?’

Carver sighed. ‘Look — I don’t like it. But — sometimes a templar has to do what’s necessary. Like—like some of the things you just mentioned. Like bringing those mages in.’

‘And then what happens when you bring them in? The phylacteries that templars use, made from enchanting mages’ blood — those _de-fin-ite-ly_ sound like blood magic to me. Am I wrong, Carver?’

‘The phylacteries are just a tool,’ Carver began, before realising what he’d just said. ‘It’s… it’s necessary,’ he eventually stumbled out.

‘Well, then,’ Merrill concluded. ‘If even _templars_ use blood magic when it’s necessary, why can’t you accept that sometimes mages do the same? Whenever _I’ve_ used blood magic, I’ve only done what I had to do. Like you said yourself — that time I opened that barrier on the Sundermount. Are you going to tar _me_ with the same brush as every blood mage that attacks you, Carver?’

‘All I’m trying to do is keep everyone safe,’ Carver muttered weakly, like a man who knew he’d lost.

‘So arrest me then,’ she taunted him. ‘Magic _can’t_ be made safe, and it can’t be destroyed. Fear makes men more dangerous than magic ever could.’

‘Kitten,’ Isabela asked, somewhat uselessly. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Merrill, listen to me,’ Carver finally pleaded, ignoring the pirate and turning fully to face the elf staring defiantly at him. ‘I _won’t_ arrest you. And if you must know, the templars have suspected there’s an apostate healer in Darktown for a while now, but so far I’ve managed to direct them elsewhere — I can’t let _any_ of Garrett’s friends get brought in without risking my brother too. Or Mother, for harbouring an apostate. Or _me_ , for not telling them earlier.’

Merrill glared at him. Carver’s blue eyes were so earnest and apologetic it couldn’t help calming her a little, though she still felt angry. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Carver was honest and loyal to the people he loved — even if Carver would never ever admit he loved his brother, Merrill knew he did — but listening to him repeat the usual condemnation of blood magic still peeved her.

‘Why wouldn’t you arrest me though,’ she said, her voice still bitter, ‘if everyone who’s used blood magic even just _once_ is a blood mage, and you believe blood mages are all evil.’

‘I _don’t_ believe that,’ he said. His expression softened. ‘ _You’re_ not evil.’

‘How can you even be so sure of that, Carver? How am I different from the so-called blood mages you arrested for your promotion?’

‘Look — those mages were attacking us, Merrill. They tortured and mind-controlled my colleagues. They were going to kill _me_. I’m sorry I had to… slay the worst ones,’ Carver said hesitantly, ‘but I didn’t kill them all. At least in the Gallows they’re… safe, and everyone in the city’s safe. _You’ve_ had to cut down blood mages yourself, when they’ve attacked my brother.’

‘That’s not my point, Carver,’ Merrill challenged him. ‘If I’m such an evil, dangerous blood mage, you should arrest me, then, since you think you know so much more about magic than actual mages do. Perhaps you templars should stop pontificating on things you know nothing about and don’t understand.’

Carver sighed with the air of someone who didn’t want to argue, and drank his tankard of beer. ‘You’re right, Merrill. I _don’t_ understand magic — I’m not a mage. But I _do_ know those mages were dangerous. Blood mages or not. I had to bring them in.’

‘Merrill,’ Isabela spoke again. ‘What is this _really_ about?’

‘Why are you ignoring me, Isabela?’ Merrill cried, turning on her friend at last. ‘Here I am, trying to help, and you just—just _dismissed_ me—’

‘Help?’ said Carver and Isabela in unison, incredulous looks on their faces.

Merrill felt her face flush as she looked from one face to the other. _Shemlen_ , making her feel stupid again.

‘Merrill,’ Isabela put down her ale bottle, ‘I’m sorry if you felt I dismissed you. I didn’t mean to. But—right now? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Merrill set her mouth in a hard line. ‘Fine. I don’t know what you’re up to, Isabela, but I know it’s something to do with Carver. You keep inviting him to the Hanged Man with us. And I was just trying to help you. By telling you he asked about you in his letter.’

Merrill watched as Carver’s face went scarlet, while Isabela responded by trying to swig her ale bottle while clearly suppressing a giggle.

‘Oh, Kitten,’ Isabela sniggered, before swigging her bottle again. ‘I—shit. What do I even say? Hope you can forgive me?’

‘Well then, just let me help you,’ Merrill said, voice tight. ‘Tell me what you need from me, to help with Carver, and I’ll do it.’

‘Wait,’ Carver finally spoke. ‘What are we talking about now?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Isabela drawled, standing up, ‘but I _do_ know I’m not nearly drunk enough for any of this. I’m off to get another round, and I’ll be right back.’

She practically skipped to the bar, and Carver and Merrill were left at the table, staring after her in stunned silence.

‘Merrill,’ Carver began, no longer blushing but concerned, and his voice was so patient that Merrill hated herself for causing drama and ruining everything. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ Merrill replied. She fidgeted with her sleeve. ‘I suppose I should congratulate you on becoming Knight Corporal first, though.’

‘Thanks.’

Merrill looked up at him. _He really does look handsome in his armour_ , she thought in spite of herself. _Scary, like all templars, but still_ — _much more handsome than any other templar would look._ _No wonder Isabela seems to want him round so often_. She took a deep breath. ‘Isabela is… very attractive, isn’t she?’

She noticed the puzzled expression from earlier crossed Carver’s features again as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. ‘Um. Maybe?’

‘I mean, Isabela’s _beau-ti-ful_. Terrifying, but beautiful.’ _A bit like you, in a way. You’d look good together_. ‘I mean, she’s got the most _end-less-ly_ long legs and the most _am-az-ing_ , enviable breasts—’

‘You think Isabela’s beautiful?’ Carver was trying to sound nonchalant, but to Merrill’s surprise, he looked utterly crestfallen.

Merrill didn’t get it. Why did he look so sad about this? What else could she do to talk her friend up? How else could she extol Isabela’s virtues so that the pirate could successfully seduce him? ‘Well, don’t you think so, Carver? I mean, I suppose there’s one woman I can think of who was much more beautiful, but she’s no longer—’

‘Right,’ Carver spluttered, suddenly sullen. ‘Right. I think I—I think I get it now.’

‘Well, you should!’ Merrill forced her best, most encouraging smile at the templar. ‘Isabela is probably one of the most _amazing_ women I’ve ever met. And she deserves the very best…’

‘Merrill,’ Carver interrupted her, ‘I—I didn’t know you weren’t interested in men. I’m sorry. I hoped—’ He closed his eyes and inhaled shakily before speaking again. ‘Well. Doesn’t matter.’

Now it was Merrill’s turn to be puzzled. What in the name of the Creators was he talking about? What did _her_ sexuality have to do with Isabela? ‘I… like both? I mean… there was a woman in my clan I was in love with, the one I sort of mentioned a minute ago. She never knew, though. But I like men as well… I’m babbling again, aren’t I?’

Carver was staring at the table, cheeks burning, breathing deeply in and out as if to compose himself before he spoke. ‘No,’ he eventually said, voice cracking. ‘It… it’s fine.’

‘But anyway,’ Merrill enthused again, ‘we weren’t talking about me! We were talking about _Isabela_ , and how attractive and interesting and witty she—’ 

‘I need to get back to the Gallows,’ Carver said, standing up so suddenly he almost flipped the table over. ‘It was nice to see you again, Merrill,’ he mumbled, backing away, red-faced, not looking at her. ‘Bye.’

And with that, Carver practically ran out of the Hanged Man, banging the door loudly behind him.

‘What was that all about?’ Isabela asked, returning to the table with three drinks. ‘Shit. I guess I’ll have to drink his beer.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Merrill said, ‘but I think I said something wrong again. He…’ Merrill blinked up at the pirate, big green eyes round and serious. ‘Isabela, I don’t know why — but I think he was about to cry.’


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela scrambles to get her bet with Varric back on track, and Carver and Merrill run into each other at the Hawke Estate.

Never had Isabela face-palmed so hard as when Merrill told her what happened when Isabela had been getting drinks at the bar, and never had Varric cackled so hard when she told him.

‘Rivaini,’ he chuckled, as Isabela slumped in a chair in his suite, shaking her head in her hands, ‘I think it’s time to give up on this wild goose chase of yours, don’t you?’

‘And hand you over all that gold?’ she retorted, removing her head from her hands and sitting up straight, tossing him a dirty look. ‘Never.’

‘I’d say it’s a small price to pay for cutting your losses on a madcap scheme that’s never gonna work.’

‘Of course it’s going to work.’ Isabela relaxed in her chair, picking up her ale bottle. ‘It’s just… taking a bit longer than I hoped, that’s all.’

‘Really. You’ve just told me that Merrill tried to convince Carver to get together with you, while _Carver’s_ convinced that _Merrill’s_ in love with you.’ Varric laughed again and shook his head. ‘While _you_ are trying to matchmake both of _them_. How ridiculous can it get, Rivaini?’

‘I have no idea where Merrill got this stupid idea that _I’m_ after Carver,’ Isabela complained, glugging her ale. ‘I just dropped in on him at the Gallows earlier to explain, and he apparently resents me for “stealing Merrill’s heart” without telling him. Ugh. Why did I have to try and facilitate the love life of two utterly clueless people?’

Varric chortled and peered over her. ‘Because deep down, you have a heart of gold?’

‘Hey! You take that back!’

‘I meant a heart of gold _sovereigns_ of course.’

‘That’s better.’

‘Seriously, though, Isabela. I think it’s time you gave up on those two. Even if Daisy wasn’t so clueless and Junior wasn’t so inept, I don’t think she’d ever be interested in him.’

‘I disagree, Varric. He wrote her a letter that made her very happy — that’s progress, at least. And she thought he was very handsome in his Knight-Corporal armour — she kept trying to persuade me to agree with her.’

‘Only because she’s trying to set _you_ up with him,’ said Varric, cackling again. ‘Somehow, Daisy’s got it into her pretty little head that you’re inviting Junior down to the Hanged Man so often because you’re trying to matchmake yourself with him.’

Isabela sighed, exasperated. ‘Why in Thedas would I bother doing that? If _that’s_ what I wanted, I’d have slept with him by now. Or received a “no” at least.’

‘I know, I know, but it seems that’s not how Daisy sees it.’

Isabela said nothing, but sat back in her chair drinking her ale in silence. Varric observed her for a while, then pushed away the parchment in front of him, which had the first draft of the latest chapter of _Swords and Shields_ on it.

‘So,’ he said. ‘You’re not giving up, then?’

‘No, why should I? I’ve got a plan, Varric. It just needs a bit longer to work, that’s all. And then, those sovereigns of yours will be mine.’

Varric sighed. ‘Fair enough, then,’ he said resignedly, pulling his parchment back in front of him. ‘The bet’s still on.’

*** 

Finally, Carver had moved the last of his possessions out of the templar dormitories. Now that he was a Knight Corporal, he got his own bedroom, which came with a smaller adjoining office. With its stone walls and floor and metal door, it was just as sparse and cold as the dormitories he’d moved from; it felt somewhat forlorn, but at least it was his own private space. At least he was able to hang his family portrait on the wall here, and put his favourite portrait of himself and Bethany next to the bed — small comforts, but they helped.

Not that Garrett ever knew Carver had taken that portrait of himself and Bethany off to the Gallows with him, and he’d rather break Garrett’s jaw than admit it to him. The only one who _definitely_ knew he’d taken it was Merrill — he’d showed it to her before he left for the Gallows, and she’d remarked that Bethany had been very pretty.

Speaking of Merrill, Isabela had accosted him a week ago, just after he’d stormed out of the Hanged Man; Carver had tried to shrug her off, but Isabela was having none of it, barring him from leaving the empty dormitory until he’d listened to what she’d said.

‘You could have told me you’d already stolen Merrill’s heart,’ Carver had hissed, resenting every minute of her presence.

‘Of course I haven’t,’ Isabela snapped. ‘So don’t act like I’m the one betraying you here.’

‘Really? Could’ve fooled me. All she did was go on about how attractive you were…’

‘Right, and when you left she went on about how attractive _you_ were,’ Isabela interjected, ‘to try to convince me why you and I should be together.’ She rolled her eyes and huffed. ‘So. Not what I expected would happen, but certainly not what you worried about.’

‘I don’t think I stand a chance with her anyway,’ Carver had grumbled. ‘She’ll never accept me after… what we argued about. Why not just put me out of my misery, and let me leave her alone.’

‘That argument wasn’t about you. It seems she was annoyed with me, and took it out on you… although you _did_ make it easy for her,’ Isabela replied, rolling her eyes at the memory. ‘Besides, if I thought you no longer stood a chance with her, I wouldn’t be here trying to persuade you to try again.’

‘I’m still a templar, though. What makes you so sure she’ll want _that_?’

‘If she’d been so against you joining up, she’d have tried to talk you out of it in the first place, from what I understand.’ Isabela paused, and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I admit she’s… not a fan of what the templars do, but she had an enormous amount of faith in _you_. And _you_ were the one who allowed the Order to get in the way all these years. Not _her_.’

Somehow, Isabela had convinced him — against all his better judgment — to give the whole Merrill thing one more try. She’d batted back every argument he had as to why he should give up on the elf, and outsmarted and outwitted him just as surely as if she was playing Wicked Grace.

It had been an agonising week. Merrill’s words had gone round and round in his head, and what had been even worse was that their argument in the Hanged Man had happened not long after Ser Karras had given three of the Starkhaven mages the brand ‘on the Knight Commander’s orders’ once he’d brought them to the Gallows. There were rumours that Karras had picked which mages he made Tranquil entirely at random, and Meredith herself remained silent on the matter. Carver didn’t even want to know if the rumours were true or not; it was bad enough knowing he’d been complicit in bringing them in under Ser Karras’s ‘care’ in the first place.

Grace had not been one of the mages made Tranquil, much to Carver’s surprise. She’d been watching him through hostile, narrowed eyes ever since; and even if Carver didn’t feel guilty about _her_ , he hated how powerless and anguished he’d been over what had happened to her fellows. His promotion to Knight-Corporal had been a hollow victory, even if Isabela had insisted on drinking to it.

Merrill was right: being a templar _wasn’t_ always a good choice; it was one he’d often regretted. Nonetheless, while joining the templars might have been the wrong choice, at least it was _his_ choice. Not Garrett’s, not Mother’s, not Father’s nor Bethany’s: his and his alone, for once in his life. It was the one thing he held onto in the face of any misgivings he might have.

Carver sighed, and got up off his bed. He had to go and visit Mother soon; she’d made him promise, even though it meant it was the second time he’d visited the Hawke Estate in a month. If he was honest, he’d prefer that tally to be zero. However, Mother had insisted he visit the Estate again after years of visiting him in the Gallows, saying the Gallows was ‘not the most welcoming place’. Carver couldn’t disagree with her about that.

Once he was at the Hawke Estate, however, Mother was visibly delighted at his promotion to Knight-Corporal and his smarter new armour. She fussed over him as usual, and cooked him a huge meal. Carver had missed Mother’s cooking, and he wolfed it down hungrily while Mother beamed at him in pride.

‘Oh, it’s so wonderful to have you here,’ she said, for the seventh time that day. ‘Do you know, I had Merrill over for tea the other day?’

Carver looked up. ‘Merrill?’ he demanded, suspiciously. ‘Why?’

Leandra shrugged. ‘Well, I thought I should get to know my sons’ friends. She’s here a lot, you know, watering Garrett plants.’

‘Right.’

Leandra watched her son carefully. ‘She seems like a nice girl.’

‘She is, Mother. She’s… nice. Can we talk about something else now?’

Leandra sighed, and tucked into her dessert; Carver had already mostly finished his. ‘Both of you are the same. Garrett is so evasive when I ask him about Anders, and you are so prickly over Merrill.’

Carver barked a laugh, ignoring her last words. ‘Oh, so Brother’s still mooning around the abom—I mean—Anders, is he?’

‘It would seem so.’ Leandra scooped up a spoonful of pudding; she seemed too preoccupied to notice Carver’s slip of the tongue. (Carver was glad; he _really_ didn’t want to have to explain to Mother why he’d called Anders an abomination.) ‘He’s thwarting every attempt I’m making to secure him a good marriage among the nobles of Hightown.’

‘Well, he could pick better than Anders, but apart from that, I can’t say I blame him.’

‘Oh, Carver. You haven’t met any of them. I daresay some of the young women are quite engaging.’

‘I’m sure they are, Mother, but—’ Carver stopped. ‘Hey. You’re not trying to matchmake _me_ , are you?’

‘Well, what’s wrong with a mother trying to make a good match for her children?’

Carver pushed his dessert bowl away, scowling. ‘That’s nice of you, Mother, but I think I’m capable of choosing for myself. Like you and Father did.’

‘At least give them a _chance_ , darling. I daresay as a respectable templar Knight-Corporal, you’d make a good match for many in Hightown.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

‘Carver,’ Leandra said, pointedly. ‘Merrill’s an elf.’

‘I know that, Mother. I’m not blind.’

Leandra sighed. ‘It’s not that I don’t _like_ her,’ she started. ‘She’s a little strange, I suppose, but she _is_ a sweet girl — it’s just that everyone in Thedas will make things so _difficult_ for you both. _And_ your children.’

Carver coloured slightly at the mention of children, but said: ‘Well, you and Father managed, and he was an apostate.’

‘Magic is much easier to conceal than being an elf, darling.’

‘Well, you don’t have to worry anyway.’ Carver, annoyed now, stood and gathered the dessert bowls for washing up. ‘Merrill and I aren’t together, so you’ve got your own way.’

‘Carver…’ Leandra began, but her son had already stormed off.

When Leandra appeared in the scullery doorway, Carver was barging his way out of it, leaving an eager Sandal to do the washing up instead.

‘Carver, please!’ Leandra ran up the stairs after her son’s long strides.

‘No, Mother.’ Carver wheeled on her, eyes flashing, and Leandra flinched at her son’s sudden anger. ‘I’m heading back to the Gallows.’

‘I’m sorry for bringing up Merrill,’ Leandra offered, but Carver cut her off.

‘There’s _nothing_ wrong with Merrill for being an elf,’ Carver spat, ‘or anyone else for being an elf. I’ll choose my own path, Mother, and I don’t need you to tell me what’s best for me.’

‘Carver, please!’ Leandra shouted again, running after her son, only to skid to a halt behind him when they’d got to the reception room.

‘Hi, Merrill,’ Carver stuttered, going red.

***

‘Ah! Miss Merrill,’ Bodahn greeted her warmly as he let her into the Hawke Estate. ‘Lovely to see you, as usual! Come to water Messere Hawke’s plants?’

‘ _Aneth ara_ , Bodahn. Yes, I have,’ Merrill replied, stepping inside, dusting the outside drizzle off her green tunic. ‘Is Hawke at home?’

‘I’m afraid not. But I shall tell him you’ve been. Mistress Amell is in, and so is…’

Merrill heard angry shouting coming from one of the other rooms as Bodahn led her into the reception room, where she came face to face with none other than Carver and his mother, their fury giving way to embarrassment.

‘Hi, Merrill,’ Carver said, cheeks flushing as he stood there in his Knight-Corporal armour.

‘…and so is Ser Carver,’ finished Bodahn redundantly. ‘I’ll leave you all to it, shall I?’

‘Thank you, Bodahn. Hello, Leandra. Hello, Carver.’

‘Hello, Merrill,’ Leandra panted, going as red-faced as her son. ‘How… _nice_ of you to come and water Garrett’s plants. I must say, I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘Obviously not,’ Carver muttered.

‘Have I come at a bad time?’ Merrill asked, feeling uncomfortable. ‘I thought I heard shouting. That wasn’t you, was it?’

‘Of course you haven’t come at a bad time,’ Leandra said, recovering herself, although Merrill felt the atmosphere was still tense. ‘Although Carver was just leaving.’

She shot a glare at her son, who continued to stare at Merrill as if he was unable to take his eyes off her.

‘Er…’ Carver ignored her, gaze firmly on Merrill. ‘…I think I might stay a bit longer, actually.’

‘Of course you will,’ Leandra rejoined, and mother and son glowered at each other.

 _They were arguing_ , Merrill thought to herself. _They were shouting and I walked in on them_. It was almost as bad as Hawke and Leandra at tea all over again.

‘Well,’ Merrill chirruped, trying not to sound awkward, keen to get away, ‘sorry to interrupt! I’ll just go and water Hawke’s plants now!’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Carver mumbled, taking a step towards her, as Leandra shook her head and left the room with an audible sigh.

‘Are you sure?’ Merrill asked, wondering if she should leave and come back another time. ‘I mean, you left so abruptly when we were at the Hanged Man, and I don’t want to say something wrong again…’

‘You didn’t say anything wrong.’

‘Oh, good,’ Merrill said, although she wasn’t sure whether to believe him. ‘I was so worried I’d upset you…’

‘I’m fine.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners as he threw her an awkward grin. ‘Don’t worry so.’

Carver followed her into Hawke’s spacious library, where most of the plants were; Leandra and Bodahn had retreated to another part of the house, and Merrill was suddenly very aware that she was on her own with the templar.

‘I don’t think I need help with watering the plants, Carver,’ Merrill said as he skulked behind her, armour clanking slightly, ‘but it’s very kind of you to offer.’

‘No problem,’ he murmured, and Merrill spun round with a coy smile. _He really does look handsome in his armour_ , she thought to herself. _I’d almost forgotten he did. Elgar’nan, why do both Hawke men have to be so attractive?_

Not that Carver was attractive in the same way as Hawke — handsome Hawke dazzled the room and blinded everyone with his charm like the superstar he was — but it was only after spending more time with Hawke’s brother recently that Merrill noticed, once Hawke wasn’t there to overshadow him, that Carver had his own appeal.

Perhaps that was why Isabela had wanted to spend more time with him away from Hawke, even though she insisted she wasn’t interested? Although Merrill couldn’t think of any other reason Isabela would invite him over so much…

Carver cleared his throat, and Merrill realised she’d been staring at him; she looked away in embarrassment. ‘I—um. Merrill. We should—we should really light the fireplace. It’ll help us see better.’

‘I—I don’t have any matches, Carver.’

Carver chuckled, and Merrill’s eyes flitted back to his. ‘Lob a fireball in it. I won’t tell anyone.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘I suppose it’s pointless hiding that I’m a mage from you, isn’t it?’

She flicked her wrist towards the fireplace, and the logs lit up in tall yellow flames. Carver was watching her, his blue eyes dancing with the fire, lopsided smile on his face; and Merrill blushed, confused.

‘Anyone would think you enjoyed that,’ she blurted out, trying to keep her tone light.

‘Maybe I did.’

‘Well, then, you’re not a very good templar, aren’t you?’

Carver shrugged as he removed his gauntlets and placed them on Hawke’s desk. ‘Was normal when I was growing up. Father, Bethany and Garrett used magic all the time for stuff like lighting the fireplace. I’m used to it.’

‘I suppose you would be. Carver, I’m sorry I walked in at a bad time.’

‘It’s fine. You—you didn’t hear any of it, did you?’

‘No, I didn’t. Should I have done?’

‘No! No. It’s—nothing. Don’t worry about it.’

‘As you wish, _lethallin_. We should really start watering these plants, do you think?’

Merrill chattered on while Carver followed her round. She knew she was babbling again, but she still felt awkward and Carver didn’t seem to mind.

Sometimes she looked up and he was smiling at her, and her stomach went soft for some reason she couldn’t understand, but she pushed it determinedly aside — now was not the time for self-examination; the plants needed watering. Merrill let him water some of the pots, handing him the watering-can, and at one point her hand brushed against his.

‘Oh! Sorry,’ she murmured, jerking her hand away; it felt like some sort of electricity had just sparked and flowed between them, though she swore she’d not used any magic. And templar powers didn’t do anything like that, did they?

‘My fault,’ Carver muttered. ‘I’ll try not to do it again.’

Once they’d finished watering the plants, Merrill scribbled a hasty note for Hawke to let him know, before joining Carver at one of the bookcases.

‘Maker,’ Carver said. ‘Some of the rubbish my brother has on his bookshelf. It looks very different from yours.’

‘Only because you can’t _read_ most of mine. They’re in Elvish. Although I do have some novels in common tongue that Isabela’s given me recently.’

That got his attention. ‘Do you now?’

‘Ye-es! They’re quite int-er-est-ing. Although the heroines always seem to have heaving bosoms, like Isabela’s.’ Merrill smoothed down her tunic, and looked sadly down at her breasts. ‘Isabela always turns heads wherever we go. I wish I had a figure like hers.’

‘Oh, I dunno,’ Carver said, continuing to scan the bookshelf. ‘Yours is quite nice. D’you think that’s one of Varric’s books?’

‘Yes, that’s _Hard In Hightown_. It’s not the latest chapter though.’

‘I’ve not read any of them. Are they any good? I bet they’re quite different from the books Isabela gives you.’

‘They are. More action, less heaving bosoms.’

‘That doesn’t sound so bad.’

Merrill giggled. ‘I thought you’d _like_ heaving bosoms. Like Isabela’s. Everyone else seems to.’

Carver looked at her then; his blue eyes met hers, then dropped to her chest for just a fraction of a second before flicking back up to her face. ‘Well,’ he said, in the jauntiest voice he could manage, ‘I guess I’m… not like everyone else, then.’

‘Maybe you’re not,’ she breathed.

They stared at each other, chests rising and falling evenly; Carver licked his lips ever so slightly and Merrill watched his tongue dart in and out. Isabela might have asked Merrill _not_ to try to matchmake her with Carver, but Merrill had been _so sure_ they’d found each other attractive — they were both attractive people, and Isabela had even said she found him intriguing — that she was just puzzled why Isabela felt there was no need to do anything about it.

Although… right now, she didn’t understand why she herself couldn’t stop staring at him, fascinated…

‘I have to go,’ Merrill heard herself say.

Drowning out the flood of conflicting emotions that raged through her demanding acknowledgement, Merrill turned and fled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela ropes Carver into doing body shots off Merrill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... if you click on Merrill in the Hanged Man in Act 2, she actually says ‘Isabela said she’d teach me something called… body shots?’ Well, this chapter was born from that in-game line of dialogue.
> 
> And yes, I am fully aware that you usually do body shots using spirits like tequila... but I wanted to write it using wine, so I wrote it with wine.

‘Maker, I needed this drink,’ Hugh said, eyeing his tankard of beer approvingly. ‘With Knight-Commander Meredith giving us a bollocking over yet another missing mage, I really need to unwind right now.’

‘I think we all do,’ Carver agreed, as the other templars sitting around their table in the Hanged Man nodded. ‘It’s been a tough week.’

‘Dunno why _you’re_ worrying,’ Paxley told him, gulping his beer, ‘after you brought them Starkhaven mages in. You’ve done as well as Ser Conrad Vernhardt, after he brought in those seven apostates. I’m sure _you’re_ in the Knight-Commander’s good books.’

‘Doubt I am any more,’ Carver answered after emptying half his own tankard. ‘Not now Ella’s gone missing. She was supposed to be one of my charges.’

‘I’m sure she’ll turn up in due course,’ Ser Roderick said, swaying in his seat; he wasn’t yet drunk, but his late-stage lyrium addiction often left him muddled and uncoordinated. ‘She’s only bin reported missing this afternoon. She’ll probably turn up, right as rain, like that other mage who was hidin’ out in the library.’

‘I hope you’re right, Roderick.’ Carver downed the rest of his beer, enjoying the slight burn as it slipped down his throat — it made him feel warm and relaxed and able to forget all the troubles at the Gallows; just what he needed to feel right now. He signalled Norah to bring another round of drinks.

‘That doesn’t explain what happened to Jake,’ Hugh piped up, sipping his ale. ‘The one who went missing a week ago. He still hasn’t been found. Don’t think Meredith would’ve been half so angry over Ella if it wasn’t for Jake.’

‘Yes,’ Keran agreed. ‘Jake’s always been rebellious and hard to handle, but Ella’s one of the good ones. She’s always been well-behaved. She’s probably just hiding somewhere, and the Knight-Commander’s got paranoid.’

‘Shhh, don’t let her hear you say that!’ Paxley hissed, looking nervously around him as if the Knight-Commander herself was standing behind them. ‘Meredith’s got ears everywhere.’

‘Nah, she ’asn’t,’ Roderick said, swaying as he took his second tankard. ‘Not ’ere in the ’anged Man she ’asn’t. Or the Bloomin’ Rose.’

‘She’s raided the Blooming Rose a few times, though,’ Carver said, as he paid Norah for the round of drinks she’d brought. ‘She’s caught and disciplined a number of the Order over it.’

‘Yeah, that’s why I just stay away now,’ Hugh concurred. ‘Don’t think the Knight-Commander’s idea of discipline is the sort of “discipline” I go to the Rose for.’

Everyone around the table laughed.

‘Forget the Rose,’ Paxley said, a leer creeping across his face, ‘I think we’re about to be in for some fun, boys.’

Carver turned his head to where Paxley was looking, only to see none other than Isabela sashaying over, smirk on her face and brown eyes sparkling with mischief. His heart thumped traitorously at the sight of Merrill trailing apprehensively behind, glass of white wine in her hand, beautiful green eyes round and scared; but outwardly he didn’t react, or give anything more than the most casual of glances at the elf.

‘Well, hello,’ Isabela began smoothly as she slid into the seat between Carver and Hugh. Merrill slid less gracefully onto the bench Carver was sitting on so she was sat between Carver and Isabela, trying to make herself as small and unnoticed as possible, but fortunately all eyes were on Isabela – or in the case of Paxley and Roderick, Isabela’s breasts. ‘I _did_ hear through the grapevine that some of the Order’s best were coming to the Hanged Man. This _is_ a treat.’

Carver took another gulp of beer for courage before introducing them. ‘Guys, these are my brother’s friends — this is Isabela—’

‘Oh shut up, Carver, we all know who _Isabela_ is,’ Roderick hooted, his lewd gaze travelling up and down Isabela’s body. ‘We’ve _all_ seen ’er down the Bloomin’ Rose often enough!’

The other men laughed and jeered their agreement. Carver forced a good-natured laugh of his own and went back to drinking his beer. Isabela seemed not to care about the way the other templars were all staring at her — with the templars braying with laughter at her stories and innuendo, and with the banter flying back and forth, the pirate seemed utterly in her element. (Carver had expected Isabela to rebuke the templars blatantly ogling her breasts, even if she did so in the most good-humoured way possible; and he wondered why she hadn’t.) Meanwhile, Merrill sat between Isabela and Carver, increasingly more nervous, shrinking into herself, thoroughly ignored.

‘So, Merrill,’ Carver murmured while the attention of everyone else was elsewhere, not quite looking at her. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine,’ Merrill whispered. ‘I don’t know why Isabela brought us over here, though.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Carver said, half into the beer tankard at his lips. ‘How come you’re at the Hanged Man today anyway?’

‘Isabela said she’d teach me something called…  _body shots_?’ Merrill said uncertainly, and Carver almost choked on his beer. ‘I’m not sure what they are. But she said they’d be fun?’

‘So,’ Isabela announced to her audience as if on cue, ‘I promised my friend Merrill here,’ she put a hand on Merrill’s shoulder, and the elf jumped, ‘that I’d teach her what body shots were. I was wondering who should I pick as a volunteer…’

Shocked laughter exploded around the table, and Carver joined in to hide his own feelings. Ser Roderick eyed Merrill up and down, and Carver wanted to punch him.

‘I dunno,’ Ser Roderick said. ‘Wouldn’t be as fun as doing body shots off _you_ , Isabela, but I s’pose she’ll do.’

‘Well, for _that_ , you’re immediately disqualified,’ Isabela declared in a mock-outraged tone. ‘Who else here is man enough to drink body shots off my friend?’ She surveyed the slightly drunk, sniggering templars around the table, pretending to consider each of them in turn, elegant finger poised on the side of her mouth. ‘…Carver. I think you’re the perfect candidate, don’t you?’

Now Carver really _did_ choke on his beer. ‘…Me?’ he stammered. ‘Why?’

Not that he really wanted anyone else doing body shots off Merrill, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be the one to do this… in the middle of the bloody Hanged Man, of all places.

‘Why indeed,’ smirked Isabela. ‘Why _not_ , I say. What do you think, everyone?’

‘Brilliant idea!’ yelled Hugh heartily. ‘Come on, Ser Carver, we could all do with a good laugh!’

Carver frowned as the templars round the table cheered their agreement. There was a slightly malicious gleam in the eyes of a few of the men, and Carver knew what this was about: most of them had joined as recruits before him. Despite the fact that many templars and recruits had been his drinking pals, Carver knew some of them resented how fast Carver had risen through the ranks, especially as some struggled to get through their own templar initiations. Keran was still a recruit after his run-in with some blood mages Carver helped Hawke slay three years ago, and the elderly Ser Roderick wasn’t even that high in rank considering his length of service.

Carver knew some of the templars wanted to see him taken down a peg or two. A public humiliation, even a petty one; one that Carver couldn’t even hold too much against anyone because they’d all been drinking.

As for the ones sitting around the table who _didn’t_ resent him over his promotion, they probably genuinely _did_ want ‘a good laugh’.

‘This is your idea of a laugh, is it, Hugh?’ Carver challenged him; Hugh merely shrugged good-naturedly as Isabela produced a bottle of white wine, seemingly from nowhere, that looked suspiciously like the wine Merrill had been drinking.

‘Surely you’re not _backing out_ , Ser Carver,’ Paxley mocked him. ‘A man promoted for his bravery being too cowardly to do body shots off an elf?’

‘Yeah!’ hollered Ser Roderick, staggering as he stood up and spilled his beer. ‘Surely you’re not chickening out now, Knight-Corporal?’

A chorus of merry agreement went up around the table, as Isabela’s peals of laughter rang loudest of all.

Carver groaned. ‘Ugh. Fine. I’ll do it,’ he conceded, to cheers.

‘That’s the spirit,’ Isabela said, winking at him. ‘Kitten, can you get on that table—you’ll need to lie on it…’

Carver downed the rest of his drink; he was going to need the courage for whatever this was. He stood up and the rest of the templars stood up with him.

‘Go on, Carver,’ grinned Keran as he ordered another round of drinks. ‘You can do it! Do it for the Order!’

‘You’re drunk,’ Carver laughed at him, aiming a playful punch in his direction to cover up his fast-hammering heartbeat. ‘No more for me, thanks. I’ll be doing enough drinking from _this_ ,’ he said, jerking his thumb at the table next to theirs, before glancing in that direction to see what was actually going on.

Merrill was sitting on the tabletop, slowly undoing her clothes as she listened in some surprise to whatever Isabela was saying in a soothing tone.

‘What’s all this?’ Carver demanded as he strode over. ‘Aren’t I supposed to be drinking shots off her? Where are the shot glasses?’

‘Couldn’t find any,’ was the response Isabela tossed at him, as casually as if it were one of her smoke grenades. ‘So you’ll just have to drink from Merrill’s belly button, I’m afraid.’

‘What the—’ Carver interjected, while the templars roared their approval at this new development. ‘You think I’m gonna drink wine _off her bare skin_?’

‘What — you’ve never ’ad your mouth on a woman’s skin before, Carver?’ Roderick taunted. ‘Don’t know ’ow to ’andle a woman, I bet!’

‘Of course I bloody do,’ retorted Carver, stoically determined not to give away how terrified he felt inside as the others heckled him. He decided there and then that he hated Ser Roderick forevermore. ‘I’ll show _you_.’

‘Well, then,’ Isabela cut in. ‘What are you waiting for?’

Carver groaned again, defeated. Between the templars and the pirate’s mad schemes, they’d be the death of him, he just knew it.

‘Wish me luck, boys,’ Carver said, feigning a bravado he didn’t feel; Isabela rolled her eyes.

‘Stop chatting,’ she barked. ‘Just get over here, Carver…’

Carver obeyed, while the pirate looked him up and down, considering him.

‘Although,’ Isabela drawled, sly smile playing on her lips, ‘it might be a little uncomfortable for Merrill if you insist on keeping all that hard metal armour on. Those pauldrons look like they could poke quite sharply, and not in the good way either. Sorry Carver, I think that armour has to come off.’

‘Wh—what?’ spluttered Carver, as the other templars hooted their mirth. ‘No!’

‘Well, it’s too bad, then, we’ll have to find another volunteer,’ said Isabela smoothly. ‘One that doesn’t insist on causing injury for the sake of his pride.’

‘OK,’ sighed Carver. ‘I’ll do it — but, do I  _have_  to take my armour off?’

‘Well, you can keep your skirts on, of course,’ Isabela replied, as the other templars started to chant ‘Off! Off! Off!’ in unison.

‘Aw, come on, Carver,’ Hugh grinned, raising his beer tankard as if toasting the occasion, ‘it’s not as if you’ve got anything to hide under all that armour, ser, not with the Knight Captain saying you’re the strongest soldier he’s trained out of all of us recruits, is it?’

‘Fine,’ Carver eventually sighed again, resigned to his fate, but Keran and Paxley were already by his sides before he spoke, undoing his pauldrons and sniggering; Paxley reproached him with ‘You don’t want to hurt a lady, now, do you, ser?’

‘I can undo myself, thanks,’ Carver grumbled; Paxley and Keran fell back to their table, where Hugh was still laughing uproariously and Roderick was swaying in his seat, drunken grin on his face, as Carver roughly undid the heavy metal armour that adorned the upper half of his body; each piece fell with a loud clatter onto the floor. As he pulled his under-shirt over his head, he caught a glimpse of Isabela smirking appreciatively as her eyes roved over his now-naked torso; he’d always been strong and strapping and well-built, but years of templar military training had built him up in a satisfying way, bulking up and toning his muscles even more than they had been; and despite himself, Carver couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pride at being able to show them off.

A small noise escaped from the table beside him; Carver turned and stopped dead as he saw Merrill’s face, eyes round as she stared, transfixed, at his semi-naked body.

‘Creators, Carver,’ she murmured softly. ‘You’ve—you’ve  _grown_. A lot.’

Carver had no idea if this was a good thing or not, and wanted to ask… but then he remembered why he’d had to take his armour off in the first place.

Shit. Body shots. Off Merrill. He gulped.

‘So,’ Isabela was saying, walking over to the table that Merrill was seated on, ‘I’ve bought the finest white wine Varric has in his cellar for this, so don’t let this go to waste. Carver, get on the table. Merrill, Carver needs to be kneeling between your legs, so that he can drink the wine off your belly…’

‘Maker. I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ muttered Carver as he clambered onto the table, ignoring the jeers of the templars, as Isabela instructed Merrill to hitch up the dark green tunic she was wearing and lean back — and suddenly, Carver was face to face with Merrill’s bare stomach.

Carver swallowed. This was all much sooner, much closer, and much more public than he would like, but what could he do now?

‘Oh!’ Merrill was saying, blushing as she spread her legs wide, the cool air of the tavern on her exposed belly, confusion written all over her face. ‘I had no idea body shots were so… so…’

‘You’ll be fine, Kitten,’ Isabela reassured her, soothingly, bottle of wine in one hand as she stroked Merrill’s dark hair with the other; Carver wasn’t sure if it was the amount of alcohol Merrill had drunk or Isabela’s words that seemed to relax her, but Isabela was not nearly so soothing when she barked her orders at him. ‘Right, Carver, get yourself in place. Now.’

***

Merrill’s head was swimming. One minute Isabela said she’d  _finally_  teach Merrill what body shots were — hurrah! At last! Isabela had been promising this for so long and Merrill had been  _so_  excited — and then the next thing she knew, Carver Hawke was kneeling, topless, between her legs; and it was all Merrill could do not to stare.

Was he going to touch her? He was going to touch her. Wasn’t he?

Most of the evening had been a blur, probably due to the wine (it was lovely, but oh so strong!) that Isabela had let her try before it got used in body shots; Isabela said she’d need it ‘for courage’, whatever that meant. Merrill had been confused by that; surely she would need the courage if Isabela had picked one of the other templars for this, but she’d picked Carver, and Carver was a friend, so it would be OK, wouldn’t it?

Carver wouldn’t harm her, Merrill was sure of that. But the way he was now, head hanging as if in embarrassment and shame, made Merrill nervous. Surely she wasn’t so terrible to be drinking wine off of? Of course, she was no Isabela, but she had at least washed herself with her favourite soap before the occasion, so at least she was nice and clean. So why did he look so mortified?

Maybe he just needed encouragement. Merrill tried to smile at him, but to her surprise Carver flushed red to the tips of his ears. Funny, he blushed just like she did. Not that she didn’t already know that, of course… Creators, Merrill thought, she was even babbling to herself in her own head. It was hard to concentrate when you had a tavern full of patrons chatting and cheering, with the templars nearby cheering loudest of all and one of them about to do shots off your body… why did Isabela think Merrill would enjoy this again?

Humans. Merrill really didn’t understand them.

Carver was slowly and deeply breathing in and out, as if he was trying to control himself for some reason Merrill couldn’t discern; his blue eyes burned into hers so intensely it made Merrill simultaneously want to draw him closer and run away, for reasons she was possibly too intoxicated to understand. She dropped her eyes to his body, determining that might be safer for her to look at, but… Creators. Carver had always been well built — Merrill had always enjoyed secretly admiring the way his body and his muscles moved when he was swording, even while she outwardly admired how skilled he was with something that looked so tricky — but now he’d really filled out, as Isabela had put it, in the years since he’d joined the templars.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but suddenly Merrill wanted to stroke his arms, wanted to feel how much bigger and harder his muscles were now; she wanted to smooth her hands over his well-developed chest and stomach and feel how much bulkier they were —  _Elgar’nan_ , he was built better than the Qunari now, and Merrill had always found  _them_  to be easy on the eyes, even if they silently glowered at her (and everyone else) every time she walked past one in Lowtown. Yes, the Qunari were nice to look at, especially with their distinct lack of armour, but Merrill had never wanted to touch them the way she suddenly wanted to touch Carver.

But… goodness. Was it not _wrong_ to think of Hawke’s little brother like this? After all, it wasn’t the poor boy’s fault that Isabela had roped him into one of her schemes — probably so that she could get Carver to strip to the waist — Isabela never said no to a topless man or woman, after all.

Yes. That must have been what it was. Merrill didn’t really understand humans, but at least she understood Isabela. Or so she thought.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver does body shots off Merrill, plus the emotional aftermath. 
> 
> (Some mild smut - well, masturbation - towards the end of this chapter.)

Like a man condemned, Carver positioned himself carefully between Merrill’s legs, staring fixedly at her face, desperately ignoring the fact that she’d lifted her tunic so high she was exposing the base of her breasts to him.  _Don’t think about what you’re doing_ , he sternly told himself as he placed both his hands on either side of her bare torso, hoping his templar skirts were loose enough to hide the erection he was surely about to get. Merrill beamed shyly but encouragingly at him, which only served to make it worse.

 _Don’t look at her breasts. Don’t think about her naked. Just drink the wine off her belly, and get it over with_.

Not that _that_ was going to be even slightly easy. Carver stared at her tummy: smooth, pale, almost luminescent skin; cute, concave belly button that would be just perfect for drinking out of. He exhaled a long, resigned sigh, and lowered his face so that his lower lip lightly touched her skin, just below her belly button, trying hard not to be so aware how dangerously low his chin was on her body. Her skin smelled clean, like strawberry-scented soap, as if she’d washed it specifically for this occasion. Merrill giggled nervously and closed her legs around his body; Carver closed his eyes and wondered how in the Void he’d ended up in such a position of terrifying and pleasant torture.

Damn that Isabela. This was all her bloody fault.

‘Ready?’ Isabela called from somewhere above his head; at Merrill’s giggled assent Isabela poured the wine into the curve of Merrill’s tummy, to squeals and a little bit of wriggling, while Carver tried to hold Merrill still.

The first slurp of wine from her belly button hit his tongue, heady and intoxicating like the scent of her skin, and Carver opened his eyes again. A river of white wine was gently flowing onto his mouth, splashing little drops as it did so which ran off to the side; the taste of it on her skin was delicious, even more so with the faintest taste of strawberry and  _her_ in it, and his cock stirred slightly. The flow of pale gold liquid stopped, and Carver sucked the last of it out of her navel — she was beautiful like this, he thought, as he could feel her belly tense beneath his lips as she repositioned herself somewhere above him — and he made to move himself, to get away from this damn situation before he utterly humiliated himself, especially with all his templar colleagues now gathering round the table, whooping and cheering; but then he heard Isabela speak again above the Hanged Man’s noise.

‘No, Carver. You stay there and lick every drop of that up,’ Isabela ordered, to the jeers of the watching templars. ‘I paid good coin for this wine, I don’t want to see any of it go to waste.’

What could Carver do but obey? He sighed and lowered his head back down, using his tongue to lap up the rivulets of wine that had run all over her torso that he’d missed the first time. Her skin tasted sweet in a way that had nothing to do with the wine or the soap, and Carver thought he could happily do nothing but run his tongue all over her body all day. His eyes wandered over her bare skin, travelling upwards past where her dark green tunic was bunched roughly at her chest, to where Merrill’s face was.

It was only then that Carver realised Merrill had propped herself up onto her elbows to watch him sometime before Isabela ordered him to stay put and lick the rest of the wine off her body. His eyes met hers, and Carver paused, his tongue still flat against her stomach.

How embarrassing. As if this wasn’t embarrassing enough.

Merrill was staring at him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly parted, surprise and fascination and wonder all over her face. Carver doggedly carried on, watching her watching him, licking the last of the wine off her body as if this was a totally normal and unremarkable act to be caught doing, even while he could feel his face burn. Even while he could feel Merrill’s sharp intake of breath, and hear the hoots of his colleagues goading him along with Isabela’s peals of laughter.

‘Carver’s doing a great job down there, isn’t he, Kitten? Ready for some more?’

The second flow of wine cascaded down from above. Merrill was sitting up a little more, and Isabela was pouring the bottle onto the space at the top of Merrill’s stomach between the mounds of her breasts; some of the wine followed round the curve of each breast before trickling down her body. Still at Merrill’s belly button, Carver slurped up everything that ran down her body into the dip of her tummy; Merrill moaned softly as he licked the stray rivulets he hadn’t caught the first time, while Carver tried not to think about the fact that his lips were on her skin and he was licking wine that had just run down from her breasts.

Carver didn’t look up at Merrill this time as he licked her torso clean. His face was burning, his erection was straining, and his self-control was most definitely fraying.

‘Good boy,’ Isabela said, to cheers and laughter. ‘Ready for some more, Kitten?’

‘ _There’s more?_ ’ spluttered Carver, turning to look at Isabela, fighting the urge to wipe that smug look off her face.

‘Of course there is. Did you think that was the whole bottle?’ Isabela laughed again.

‘No,’ Carver said firmly, lifting his face from Merrill’s tummy and kneeling upright. ‘I’m not doing this.’  _I don’t trust myself to control myself again — was hard enough the first time_.

‘Aw, come on, Ser Carver,’ yelled Ser Roderick drunkenly at him, swaying where he stood, as a tittering Hugh tried to hold him up. ‘You can’t disappoint a lady now, can you?’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Isabela, as Merrill sat upright herself, looking dazed. ‘We’ll have to get another volunteer to do body shots off Merrill, won’t we, Kitten?’

Merrill looked at Carver then, her round green eyes filled with hurt. ‘Carver, I’m so sorry,’ she said, voice cracking slightly. ‘I didn’t know this was going to be a dirty thing. It—it  _is_  a dirty thing, isn’t it?’

Carver stared at her, desperately resisting the urge to throw his arms round her and kiss her. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he eventually choked out.

‘Suit yourself,’ called Isabela, turning to the other templars. ‘Anyone else volunteer to do body shots off my friend here?’

The thought of other templars licking wine off Merrill’s body — even if they didn’t somehow find out she was an apostate in the process — made Carver go cold. ‘Fine,’ he grumbled back, trying not to sound panicked. ‘I’ll do it—er, if Merrill doesn’t mind.’

‘I’m fine,’ Merrill replied curtly, shuffling back from the table and pulling her legs back from where they were around Carver’s body. ‘I need—some time alone, anyway,’ she said, throwing her hem of her tunic down her body and jumping off the table.

‘Oh, now look what you’ve done, Carver,’ Isabela complained as the elf ran out of the Hanged Man, and the crowd around them dispersed, muttering in disappointment. She glared at him. ‘Really. I thought you’d do better than this.’

‘How could I? With my templar colleagues watching?’ he hissed at her. ‘Are you trying to get me discharged?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Isabela said. ‘Look at them. Half of them would be too drunk to remember this anyway, and the other half won’t care. Besides, we all know your stupid need to show off your bravado — you’d never have done it if they weren’t egging you on.’

Carver glared angrily back at her. ‘Merrill wouldn’t have wanted me to if  _you_  hadn’t suggested it.’

Isabela rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. ‘I give up,’ she declared. ‘Both on you and on her. If you both insist on missing the bloody obvious, then there’s nothing I can do for either of you.’ Grabbing the bottle of wine, she gave Carver one last glare, and stalked off to Varric’s suite.

***

Merrill ran all the way back to her house in the alienage, face burning, eyes stinging against the wind. She slammed the door behind her, panting hard, and slumped down against it, covering her face with her hands.

Never had she felt so confused and agitated in her life. She wiped her eyes with her hands, and looked up at the ceiling, breathing hard. She didn’t understand what she was feeling or why she was feeling it; all she knew is that she had to get out of there.

So  _that’s_  what body shots were. If Merrill had known they were such — a  _dirty thing_  — she’d never have put Carver in that position. Creators, he’d seemed so reluctant to do it in the first place, let alone Isabela trying to make him do it a second time. It wasn’t fair on him, especially with him being a templar, and in front of other templars.

But… oh, the way he’d drunk the wine off her body, his lips soft and wet against her belly; his breath almost a caress on her skin; the way he’d explored her with his tongue afterwards; the way he’d been on his knees looking up at her, his blue eyes watching her as his tongue licked long, gentle strokes up her torso, the way his large hands held her body as he knelt between her legs… just recalling it made her belly flip-flop like it did at the time, and kindled the same funny heat in her groin that she’d felt on watching him, naked to the waist, gorgeous body on hers, muscles rippling as he moved, strength and power and tenderness all rolled into one man.

Merrill was shocked to find that she desperately, desperately wanted him to do it again. She had done at the time, and she still did even in the privacy of her own home.

But Carver was a  _human_ , not an elf. And — Creators — he was a templar at that! and yet — she was horrified to find — she  _wanted_  him. Wanted to see him naked. Wanted him inside her. Wanted him to fill her, fill the emptiness in her groin that  _needed_  him there, fill the want and desire that set her body on fire.

Even with the lust that roiled through her at the thought of Carver Hawke, Merrill couldn’t help feeling horrified and disgusted at herself. A human, and a  _templar_  of all things! How much lower could she get? How much stupider could she be?

 _You betrayed our clan once_ , Merrill could hear Junar’s harsh voice saying, as in her mind’s eye he pulled his bow taut and aimed his arrow straight at her.  _And now you’re betraying us again, by wanting to be a shemlen sex toy_.

 _First she consorts with demons, then she consorts with shems_ , Terath’s voice was saying in disgust, as his face replaced Junar’s in Merrill’s imagination.  _How dare she call herself one of the People, when she has no elvhen pride_.

 _Tell me_ , Ineria’s voice jeered,  _what is it like to want templar dick so badly, especially when our clan spent your entire life avoiding them so that you didn’t get caught?_

‘But you don’t want me anyway,’ Merrill suddenly said out loud to the room. ‘Why do any of you care what I do in Kirkwall?’

The room was silent.

Merrill sighed, and closed her eyes. This was silly. Why in Thedas did she have all these… _feelings_ just because Carver had done body shots off her? It was only body shots, after all. And as for obeying Isabela — Carver was surely only being a gentleman; there was nothing more on his end than that. Whatever she felt meant nothing; it wasn’t as if the templar wanted  _her_ , was it?

Although, Merrill had to admit, it  _was_  nice to see him again. It  _was_  nice to talk to him again, after he’d avoided her for the past few years since becoming a templar, supposedly because he was avoiding his brother and anyone associated with his brother. She’d almost forgotten just how well they’d got on during her first year in Kirkwall. When he’d confessed to Merrill his decision to become a templar while Hawke was away in the Deep Roads, Merrill had understood. She suspected she’d understood better than his brother had, judging by the conversation she’d had about it with Hawke when Hawke had returned.

Merrill had missed her chats with Carver after he’d departed for the Gallows, and she missed watching the way his bulky arm muscles moved when he was swording in battle; but somehow she’d put it all out of her mind — until Isabela came back from Château Haine and started inviting Carver for drinks with herself and Merrill, for some reason Merrill couldn’t fathom. Not that she objected — after a while, seeing Carver again reminded Merrill just how much she’d missed their friendship; how much she’d missed him.

Maybe she’d feel better after she’d slept. Maybe this weird lust she was feeling was just down to the alcohol she’d drunk and what she’d felt during the body shots. Maybe. Merrill picked herself up off the floor and walked across to her bedroom, where she flopped down on the bed.

But even in her darkened bedroom, lying there on the mattress, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She tried crossing her legs to prevent herself from touching herself, and tried to force herself to sleep even through the heightened sensations throughout her body and wetness she felt down there.

***

Across town in the Gallows, Carver wasn’t sleeping any better. Even helping other drunken templars back to their dormitories to pass out on their beds did nothing to help Carver forget the events of the evening. Even though after Isabela had left, he’d outwardly shrugged off the whole thing and gone back to drinking with the other templars. He’d put up with a bit of good-natured ribbing over the whole thing, but refused to show exactly what he _really_  felt about their teasing — or indeed, what had happened with Merrill.

He settled into his own bed, feeling glad for once that being Knight-Corporal meant he didn’t have to sleep in the recruits’ dormitories; tonight he wanted to be on his own to process what had gone down in the Hanged Man, and he was glad for the silence and privacy of his bedroom.

Maker. How on earth he’d managed to drink some very fine wine off Merrill’s belly — and only the best wine would do for her — and then somehow lick the drops off her skin without somehow succumbing the temptation to travel lower down her body and into her underclothes, or further up her body to her breasts, was anyone’s guess. Even thinking about it was making him hard again, and how had he managed to hide  _that_  when he was caught between her legs, on his knees and ready to worship her?

How he had managed to do all that without giving in to the temptation to do every single thing he had ever wanted to do to her amazed him almost as much as she did. Maybe there was something to be said for templar military discipline, after all.

Carver reached down to where he was already hard and wanting, and stroked his hand up and down his length of his cock. Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking of her like this — after all, he was a templar and she was an apostate blood mage that he really should be bringing in to the Gallows; and with her Dalish pride and him not being an elf, she might not even be interested anyway — but right now, he desperately needed relief. He closed his eyes and thought again of Merrill, spread out before him with her legs around his body and her green tunic lifted so high up her body he could run his hands all over her smooth, bare torso, kiss her adorable belly button, explore and taste her with his tongue, and glimpse the underside of her breasts as she lay back, smiling encouragingly at him…

Carver wrapped his hand tighter around the head, pumping harder, drinking in the image of her this evening, so willing to receive him, so willing to enjoy everything he would give to her…

…And now she was naked underneath him, impaled on his cock, crying out his name in ecstasy as he thrust into her…

With one final thrust into his clenched fist, Carver spilled all over his hand; and it was only once he was fully spent that he was able to fall asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill goes to the Hanged Man after a poor night's sleep, hoping to take her mind off Carver and body shots. A couple of days later in the Gallows, Carver is appalled to learn Ser Alrik is going after the missing mage Ella - and vows to go with him.

Merrill’s sleep, once she had managed it, had been troubled. Carver worked his way in and out of her dreams, sometimes in his templar armour and sometimes out of it, his hands and lips and tongue so tender on her body. The nature of his appearance alternated between pleasant and deeply unpleasant: once he arrested her after drinking body shots off her; once he was naked on the Sundermount making love to her in the grass. Merrill awoke from _that_ particular fit of sleep with her hand between her legs, wet and pressed against her clit while an orgasm pulsed through her body; the sheer pleasure and relief she felt from her climax was short-lived as the guilt and humiliation from the previous day flooded back into her mind, and then she turned over and grumpily tried to force herself back to sleep again.

Eventually she got up, annoyed that sleep hadn’t resolved the problem, and decided to call on Isabela for some distraction. The watery dawn was just breaking through the silvery clouds, and most of Lowtown was still in cold shadow when she got to the Hanged Man.

‘You look tired, Daisy,’ Varric greeted her; for some reason he was perched at Isabela’s usual spot at the bar while the pirate was nowhere to be seen. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Oh, I’m fine, Varric,’ she chirped, trying to sound like her usual cheery self. ‘Just found it a little tricky to sleep, so I thought I’d get up and start the day bright and early!’

Varric’s expression was dubious.

‘I’m fine,’ Merrill repeated, more insistently this time. ‘What has Corff got on the breakfast menu?’

‘Daisy,’ Varric began with a heavy sigh. ‘I had Isabela in my suite last night. There was lots of wine-drinking, and ranting about two dumb kids, before she fell asleep on my rug.’

‘I do wish Corff would tell us what his “mystery meat” for the day is in the stew he cooks,’ Merrill chattered on, as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘I wonder if he even knows?’

Varric patted her hand. ‘Come on. Let me get you nice hot bowl of pig oat mash.’

Merrill was grateful when their food finally arrived, with Corff serving up two steaming bowls of oat-and-apple mush mixed in with bacon and berries. _Carver always liked the breakfast here_ , she thought idly, remembering the last time she’d breakfasted at the tavern with him years ago. They’d agreed Fereldan food was one of the things (among others) that they both missed about Ferelden; shortly after, Carver had given her some Fereldan pickled eggs he’d made. She wondered if he enjoyed the Gallows breakfast nearly as much as he’d enjoyed the Hanged Man’s.

_Forget about Carver, Merrill. He’s a shemlen and a templar, remember? At least his brother was only a shemlen — and your attraction to him passed in due course. You just need to wait for this one to pass, that’s all._

‘You know,’ Varric remarked after watching her with a raised eyebrow for some time, ‘it’s not like you to be this quiet, Daisy.’

‘I’m not “Daisy”, I’m Merrill,’ she replied, her lilting voice indignant. ‘And I’m eating.’

‘Well, if _that’s_ not evasive. Copper for your thoughts anyway, Merrill?’

‘How’s the next chapter of _Swords and Shields_ going, Varric?’

‘It’s… going, I guess,’ Varric drawled, ‘but that’s not why you’re here this morning, is it?’

Merrill didn’t answer.

‘You wanna talk about it?’ Varric probed. ‘You’re upset that Isabela roped Carver into doing body shots off you last night, aren’t you?’

 _Upset? Am I upset?_ Merrill wondered, staring down at her bowl as she chewed her food slowly. _No, that can’t be it. Well, I_ am _upset, but not at Isabela or Carver_. _Poor boy. It’s not his fault. Not that he’s a boy anymore, really, especially after what I saw of him last night… Shut up, Merrill, shut up, stop thinking about his hands and lips and tongue on your body…_

‘Where is Isabela right now?’ Merrill blurted out, trying desperately to blot out the memories of Carver from the night before.

‘Still asleep on my rug, probably,’ Varric said. ‘You wanna talk to her, Daisy? She probably won’t be awake for a while yet.’

‘Var-ric,’ Merrill said slowly, ‘you’re close to Isabela. Why _is_ she inviting Carver to the Hanged Man so often?’

The dwarf hesitated. ‘Why would I know _that_ , Daisy?’

‘Because you know lots of things? Or lots of people. And there’s something Isabela’s not telling me.’

‘If she’s not telling you, why do you think would she tell _me_?’ A pause. ‘What do _you_ think is going on with Rivaini and Junior?’

‘We-ell,’ Merrill began, ‘at first I thought, maybe she was trying to seduce him? But Isabela says I’m wrong. So perhaps they’re just friends? But then I don’t know why Isabela always invites _me_ whenever she invites _him_. Maybe it’s a _shemlen_ thing I don’t get? Not that there’s anything wrong with me being there. But he always seems so much more at ease around Isabela, and he asked about her in his letter to me, and I thought maybe he was attracted to her but just shy, and then…’

 _And then when he looks at me, my heart skips a beat and my stomach flips_ , Merrill remembered, _ever since we were at the Hawke Estate; and when he talks to me, he’s so Fereldan it makes me smile; and when he touches me…_

 _Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Creators,_ please _let this all be a passing phase…_

‘Well,’ Varric said, breaking her train of thought, ‘I can’t speak for Rivaini or Junior, but it sounds as if you’ve made up your mind about what’s going on.’

‘That doesn’t mean I’ve got it right, does it, Varric? Isabela said I hadn’t.’

‘Have you _tried_ asking Carver or Isabela what’s going on between them?’

Merrill frowned, and scraped the remains off her breakfast off the bottom of her bowl. ‘No. No, I haven’t,’ she admitted. Varric was right — why _hadn’t_ she thought of that before? ‘I suppose I just thought they wouldn’t tell me if I asked anyway.’

Varric shrugged. ‘Well, maybe Isabela will show her hand, or maybe she won’t,’ he said, ‘and maybe Carver has feelings for her, or maybe he doesn’t — but there’s honestly no point speculating on anything, Daisy, before you ask them.’

***

Ella still hadn’t returned, and Carver was worried. It had been two days now, and both she and Jake — who’d disappeared a week before her — were still missing. The Knight Commander regarded all of them with icy, disdainful silence, and never in his templar career had Carver felt like this much of a failure.

A popular, cheerful teenager of Rivaini heritage, Ella had been the sort of apprentice Bethany would have adored, if she were still alive. Ella had been one of his charges anyway; he’d overseen her recent Harrowing — but in swearing a secret vow to himself to protect her, Carver felt that maybe he could somehow have made up for failing to protect his beloved twin sister all those years ago — that maybe, in some meandering way of his own, he could show the memory of Bethany that her sacrifice hadn’t been all in vain. That even after she’d gone, he’d look after the things and people she cared about.

He’d failed at this too, by the look of it.

The last couple of nights had been incredibly difficult for him to sleep. Stressing over Ella, stressing over Merrill (though for very different reasons), and the ever-present, underlying worry about his family that he always tried to push away. He was doing the best thing he could to protect them, by being their man on the inside in the Templar Order, but what good was that if he proved he couldn’t even protect the people he was supposed to here in the Gallows?

Knight Commander Meredith surveyed them all as she spoke, and virtually every templar in the hall quailed beneath her glare.

‘How many more mages must we all lose under our command?’ she barked in her most stentorian tone, and Carver swore he saw some of the new initiates flinch as if the rage in her words had physically struck them. ‘How many more before the city no longer trusts the templars to protect them? How many more before the mages here in the Circle laugh at us for not being able to do our jobs?’

She paused; her eyes searched the audience of upturned faces until she found the one she was looking for.

‘Ser Alrik. I want you to gather a complement of men and hunt for both the mages that have gone missing. See me in my office. The rest of you, dismissed.’

The templars all trudged miserably out, not bothering to depart in order of rank. Carver’s heart sank at the thought of Otto Alrik as Meredith’s appointee for the task; Alrik wasn’t someone whom Carver could trust to treat Ella fairly. Alrik and Karras were two Knight Lieutenants well known in the Gallows for their blind hate of mages, and they preferred to work with those who would be a hundred percent obedient to their orders.

Which meant that Alrik was unlikely to want Carver to come with him when he was trying to find Ella, but somehow Carver _had_ to make sure he was there. He’d only worked with Alrik once before, not as a recruit but as a new initiate, accompanying him on a mage-hunting mission; the elven mage they’d caught in the Undercity had been a Fereldan refugee. At the sound of Carver’s voice, the way the mage looked at Carver, as he Silenced him and clapped him in handcuffs, one would have thought the worst thing about this ordeal had been that the man had been betrayed by a fellow countryman.

Ser Alrik had given the mage the brand as soon as they’d got back to the Gallows — he’d called ahead for someone to prepare it as soon as they’d got off the boat to the Gallows, and proceeded to make the screaming, terrified man Tranquil in front of all the mages in the courtyard. Outraged, Carver had reported it to Knight Captain Cullen. The worst that had happened was that Alrik — one of Meredith’s favourites, whom she’d promoted beyond his actual abilities – was given a talking-to about ‘not following proper procedure’, but no further disciplinary action was deemed necessary. Carver had been appalled, but what could he do?

Alrik, true to form, had tried to get his revenge, threatening to strip Carver of his knighthood. Carver had been expecting this — he’d been with his brother and Anders on the night they tried to rescue Karl in the Chantry, where they’d slain those templars and seen Ser Alrik’s letter threatening the now-deceased Ser Bardel — but he’d been so mad he hadn’t cared. His one saving grace was that Knight Captain Cullen persuaded Meredith that Carver was too valuable a soldier to be discharged; nonetheless, they had reprimanded him about the dangers of insubordination anyway.

Hugh had once warned him: ‘A knight lieutenant gives you an order, and you obey. Without question.’ Despite the verbal tongue-lashing Carver had received for questioning Ser Alrik’s actions, Carver suspected he’d only got off so lightly because he hadn’t disobeyed a direct order the man had given him.

Carver paced up and down outside Meredith’s office, waiting for Ser Alrik to leave. Ser Alrik himself came out in due course; he gave Carver the coldest of looks before he walked away. Carver returned it with a stony glare of his own, before he knocked on Meredith’s door.

‘Enter.’

Carver dutifully went inside, and closed the door behind him.

‘Ah, Ser Carver. How unexpected.’ Her voice was hard as always. ‘Make this quick.’

‘I will, Knight Commander. I would like your permission to accompany Ser Alrik on his mission to track the missing mages.’

The Knight Commander levelled her cool gaze at Carver. ‘I am surprised. I understand you and Alrik do not get on.’

‘We don’t, ser, but this isn’t about personal feelings. Ella was one of my charges, and I take full responsibility for not keeping a more careful eye on her.’

Meredith snorted. ‘Hmph. I’m pleased to see _someone_ trying to take responsibility. Although it begs the question of why you didn’t, earlier.’

Carver nodded, determined not to let Meredith’s barbs sway him from why he came to her office in the first place. ‘I know, Knight Commander. You’re right, and I apologise. And I feel it is my duty to bring her back, and ensure this doesn’t happen again.’

The Knight Commander continued to stare at him, aloof and impassive. Carver simply met her gaze and waited. He was fairly adept at dealing with her by now; it was a valuable skill for anyone who wanted to get on in the Kirkwall Order.

‘I appreciate your keenness at rectifying your mistake, Knight Corporal,’ she said at last, ‘and I appreciate you taking your duty seriously. However, you will need to consult Knight Lieutenant Alrik on this matter, as he intends to leave in the next few minutes. He has made it clear that he will have it all in hand, and I trust his judgment.’

 _Trust his judgment? You are fucking insane_ , Carver wanted to scream — but outwardly he gave nothing away; it would have been suicide. He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘As you wish, Knight Commander.’

‘Good. Was there anything else?’

‘No. I shall visit Ser Alrik right away.’

Meredith dismissed him, and Carver dutifully saluted her; however, once he’d left her room, Carver stormed through the Gallows towards Ser Alrik’s office.

As if they were reading his thoughts, most of the Tranquil were out in the Gallows open-air spaces today, wandering aimlessly. Carver shuddered to himself and strode on; the Tranquil unnerved him at the best of times, but right now was really not the time he wanted to see any of them. However, whether he liked it or not, one of them — a sandy-haired woman with grey eyes — was determined to stop him. Carver tried to shrug her off, but she seemed even more single-minded in her purpose than he was.

‘Ser Carver. A letter for you has arrived. I promised that I would give it to you right away.’

 _A letter? Right now? Who could this be from?_ Carver wondered. He sighed, and took it from the Tranquil mage as she held it out to him, emotionlessly. ‘Fine. Thanks.’

The Tranquil nodded in acknowledgement. As she turned to walk away, Carver was struck with a thought, and called out to her.

‘Hey. You’re Elsa, right? Sorry, but I wanted to ask — Ser Alrik was the templar who made you Tranquil, didn’t he?’

Elsa looked at him, face expressionless, and Carver shuddered again as she replied in that dead voice of hers. ‘Yes. He did.’

‘Why?’

‘To rescue me from my sins.’

‘Sins? What “sins” were those?’

‘The sins of being a mage.’

‘What?’ Carver was startled. ‘Never mind. What’s being Tranquil meant to do with that?’

‘Ser Alrik says the Rite of Tranquillity is the only thing that can keep the souls of mages from the Void,’ she explained tonelessly, and Carver felt a rage rise up inside him like he’d never known.

‘And how,’ Carver fumed, ‘did Ser Alrik figure _that_ out.’

The Tranquil didn’t answer.

Carver tucked the letter she’d given him inside his armour, and strode on to Ser Alrik’s office with renewed vigour. Something was going on with that man and his love of making mages Tranquil, and Carver had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to like what he found out.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two food items from the _World of Thedas Volume II_ book feature in this chapter - pig oat mash is a Hanged Man speciality apparently, while pickled eggs are a Fereldan's favourite snack. 
> 
> Also, the letter that Carver refers to (where Ser Alrik threatens Ser Bardel with stripping him of his knighthood if he doesn't obey Alrik's orders) can be read [here](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Templar_Letter) \- you loot it off a templar's body when you try to help Anders rescue Karl in the Chantry in Act 1, but it disappears so fast most people don't get to loot it.
> 
> If you're wondering if Elsa is the same Elsa who is Meredith's Tranquil assistant in Act 3, you might well be right. I won't be mentioning her beyond this chapter in this fic, but I wanted to give her a bit of backstory. I'm afraid, though, that we'll be meeting another of Ser Alrik's victims in the next chapter :-( so a warning in advance for a potentially distressing scene...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver finds out exactly what Ser Alrik is up to, and beats him up. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Ser Alrik and references of canon Tranquil rape. I’m so, so sorry.

Carver rapped hard on Ser Alrik’s door, but to no avail. The door was unlocked, and Carver could hear noises coming from inside; nevertheless he banged a second time. On receiving no response again, he decided to barge in anyway. Screw how reckless such a move was, this was important. If it concerned Ella’s fate, it was urgent and Carver would face the consequences later, whatever they would be.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Ser Alrik, but I need to ask you—’ Carver began, holding the very last vestiges of his patience in check as he flung the door open, before stopping dead in horror at what he saw.

‘What the _fuck_?’ yelled Carver. ‘Alrik, what the fuck is this?’

His cold eyes flashing with anger and hatred, Ser Otto Alrik pushed away the girl whose head had been level with his hips just moments ago and flung his templar skirts down before Carver could see what had gone on underneath; Carver recognised the girl as a mage called Helena, now with a dead look in her eyes and a red, angry sunburst scar on her pale forehead.

Ser Alrik laughed evilly. ‘Just some _relief_ before I go on my little mage hunt,’ he said, in his grating voice, and Carver was torn between wanting to hit him and wanting to vomit. ‘You can have a go of your own with her once I’ve finished.’

‘You bastard,’ Carver hollered, fists clenched. ‘ _This_ is what you’re making mages Tranquil for, is it?’

Alrik moved as if to cast a templar power, but Carver was quicker; with a flash Alrik was knocked across the room and sat, crumpled and temporarily dazed, against the wall. Carver walked and stood over him, satisfied that his Smite had staggered and incapacitated the man as well as he’d hoped.

‘Leave, Helena,’ Carver ordered the Tranquil, not taking his eyes off Ser Alrik.

‘I am Ser Alrik’s now,’ the passive, emotionless female voice behind him answered. ‘He is the only one that can command me.’

From his position on the ground, Alrik laughed again. ‘Helena’s loyalty is so _touching_ , isn’t it. It’s for her own good, as well as mine. Helena, you will need to come back later. After I’ve dealt with this pipsqueak.’

‘You are disgusting,’ Carver said, as Helena obediently left the room. ‘Making mages Tranquil and using them as your playthings? You’re a fucking disgrace to the Order.’

‘No,’ Ser Alrik said, eyes flashing defiantly as he looked up at Carver, ‘ _you_ are a disgrace to the Order, Carver Hawke. You have long been a thorn in my side, yet one I can never get rid of no matter how often I’ve pleaded my case to Meredith and Cullen. I wonder _why_ they make so many exceptions for you. No doubt your nobility and your wealthy brother have something to do with it.’

‘No, it’s because you’re an incompetent prick,’ Carver retorted. ‘ _And_  a corrupt one. Fraternising with—or, well, _raping_ —mages? Especially the Tranquil ones — you think Meredith will approve of that?’

Ser Alrik laughed his evil laugh again as he stood up. ‘You are naïve if you think it doesn’t happen all the time in this place,’ he said, and Carver grit his teeth. ‘Meredith overlooks a lot once you’re in her good books. And why not? Forcing ourselves upon them makes them easier to control; and when they’re Tranquil, they won’t fight back.’

‘So that’s it?’ Carver spat, feeling glad that his Staggering Smite was lasting as long as it was. ‘You’re so incompetent and depraved the only way _you’re_ able to keep mages in check is by Tranquillising and raping them? You blighted—fucking—’

Ser Alrik smirked cruelly as a furious Carver scrabbled around for a strong enough curse to describe him. ‘No, _you_ are the incompetent one, Ser Carver. My solution — the Tranquil Solution — is the way of the future. _You_ are stuck in the past. Forget the idea of templar as brave, glorious protector and defender against the evils of magic. Much easier for us to make them all Tranquil at the age of majority. It’s for their own good. All I need now is for Meredith and the Divine to approve the Tranquil Solution, and men like _you_ will be on your way out.’

A chill ran up Carver’s spine at Ser Alrik’s words.

‘That’s evil,’ he said, horrified. ‘The Divine will never approve that. You’re insane.’

Ser Alrik merely laughed at him. ‘Oh, but she will, eventually, and so will Meredith.’ He regarded Carver contemptuously, while Carver, blood boiling with rage, clenched his fists. ‘The Knight-Commander and Knight-Captain put their faith in you for some foolish reason, Carver Hawke, but I know better: you’re an untrustworthy snake, and you aren’t as loyal to the Order as they think. I can’t wait until I finally have my way with the mages — and then I’ll get my way over _you_ : I will ruin everything and everyone you care for most, and you will regret having ever crossed me.’

Carver bellowed, and lunged at him; Ser Alrik tried to cast, but Carver’s fist had already connected with his face, taking him by surprise again and disrupting his concentration. A black eye began to bloom on the older templar’s face as Carver cast a Staggering Smite again as he pinned him down.

‘You can’t stop me,’ Ser Alrik jeered as he grappled with Carver, before the younger man punched him in the other eye. ‘No one can stop me once the Tranquil Solution is in place.’

‘Hey!’ yelled a voice from the doorway. ‘What’s going on?’

A flash of white blinded Carver, and he fell helplessly to one side, unable to move; when he could see again, Thrask was holding him and Ser Alrik apart, while First Enchanter Orsino stood over them, looking furious.

‘I was walking this way with Ser Thrask and heard shouting,’ Orsino said. ‘As the door was open, we came in and found you fighting. Care to explain?’

‘Blame this Fereldan dog,’ Alrik said, spitting in Carver’s direction and missing. ‘He attacked me first.’

‘You fucking deserved it,’ snarled Carver, trying to move around Thrask’s arm and failing, not even caring that Thrask had obviously been the one who’d cast the Smite that had incapacitated him just now. ‘And the First Enchanter would agree with me if he knew what you were up to.’

Ser Alrik shrugged. ‘We’ll see what the Knight-Commander thinks about that when Thrask does his duty and takes you to her. Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,’ Ser Alrik said to the other two, ‘I have a couple of mages I need to go and hunt. Take this doglord to Meredith. I’ll speak to her myself on my return.’

Thrask nodded at Ser Alrik. ‘Very good, ser. We’ll leave you now.’

Carver scowled as Thrask and Orsino flanked him and dragged him towards the Knight Commander’s office, resigned to his fate yet defiant. He was aware that Orsino and Thrask were exchanging looks behind his back, but he didn’t care. However, before they could go in, both men turned sharply in the opposite direction and into the office opposite, before shutting the door.

‘Wait,’ said Carver dumbly, as he looked around. ‘This isn’t Knight-Commander Meredith’s office.’

‘No,’ said the First Enchanter, as he nodded at Thrask to let go of Carver. ‘This is my office.’

‘Why am I here?’

‘Because,’ Thrask answered, ‘the First Enchanter would like to know why you attacked Ser Alrik before you explain yourself to the Knight-Commander.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ Orsino said, and Carver was surprised at how ferocious the elderly elf suddenly looked, ‘I’ve long had my suspicions about what Ser Alrik is doing, and I heard him say something about the Tranquil as I ran through the door.’

‘And then what? I tell you what he told me, and Thrask here turns me over to Meredith for punishment? Because I’m not the one who’s done anything wrong, here.’

Thrask and Orsino exchanged a long, furtive look. Then Thrask turned to Carver.

‘I am not turning you into Meredith,’ he said. ‘And neither will the First Enchanter. But Ser Alrik has indicated he is going to talk to Meredith on his return, and when that happens, you will have enough trouble to worry about.’

Carver gave him an incredulous look. ‘Won’t that get you in trouble with Alrik as well, Thrask?’

Thrask merely shrugged. ‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’

Carver sighed. ‘Fine. OK then. Here’s what happened…’

Once he’d explained what he’d found in Ser Alrik’s room and the Tranquil Solution, the First Enchanter looked like he was going to be sick. Thrask listened keenly, with all the attention of a man who was deeply interested in what Carver had to say.

‘Maker’s breath. To think that’s what he was up to all along,’ Orsino said, white with fury as he gripped his desk. ‘Thank you, Ser Carver. You may go now.’

Carver left the room, reeling in disbelief that he was temporarily out of trouble, yet couldn’t help feeling that there was something else going on that he hadn’t been told.

Carver yelled and punched the wall once he was in his room; he even kicked it a few times, yet it did nothing to ease his rage and frustration and disgust and horror. He flung himself down on his bed, angry at not being able to do anything to stop Ser Alrik, worried about Ella, before he remembered the letter the Tranquil had given him. He drew it out of his armour, and opened it, thinking surely it couldn’t contain any worse news than what he’d learnt today.

The letter was from Merrill, to Carver’s immense surprise; it marked a very different change of pace from what his day had so far turned into:

 

_Dear Carver,_

_Thank you again for your lovely letter to me! It really brightened up my day. It’s been nice to hear what you’ve been up to in the Gallows, and I’m glad to hear it’s going well!_

_I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write back to you. In fact, I’ve tried to write this letter several times. It’s probably easier to start writing with news_ _you probably don’t already know._

_Do you know or remember Guardsman Donnic? Aveline wanted to court him, but she wasn’t brave enough to ask him herself. She sent him some copper marigolds, but he didn’t get the hint! She was going to send his mother three goats and a sheaf of wheat, but Isabela laughed her out of that idea. Poor Aveline was really cross. Anyway, she asked your brother to help her, and he arranged a date for them both at the Hanged Man, but then she left Hawke stranded at the Hanged Man with Donnic!_

_In the end, Hawke, Varric, Isabela and me ended up following Aveline and Donnic on their patrol on the Wounded Coast at sunset, clearing out the bandits so that they would get a chance to talk. Poor Aveline didn’t know what to talk to Donnic about, and Donnic had no idea we were with them! He was really surprised when we showed up at the end. We had to explain to him what was really going on! You’ll be pleased to hear it all ended well, though. They’re dating now, and Aveline seems happy so far. She says it’s nice, and he seems nice. I’m so glad for them both!_

_Anyway, I’m rambling, sorry. I should get to the main point of my letter. Firstly, I wanted to say I’m so sorry about the body shots the other day. If I’d known they were a dirty thing, I would never have let Isabela make you do them on me. How awkward and embarrassing it must have been for you! I hope you can forgive me._

_I also wanted to ask: is there anything going on between you and Isabela? I’m sorry if that question was too personal. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to._

_If it’s easier, we can talk things over at my house when you’re next free? It would be nice to catch up again. But after the body shots incident, I can understand if you don’t want to. And I can understand if you don’t want to talk or write to me again._

_Your friend,_

_Merrill_

Carver couldn’t help chuckling at Merrill’s account of his brother trying to matchmake Aveline and Donnic, even if it reminded him painfully of Isabela’s increasingly failed attempts to matchmake himself and Merrill. But at least it cheered him up slightly, after the day he’d had — thank the Maker for _her_ , he thought fondly, she really isn’t like other girls…

The last two paragraphs, though, made him frown in concern; and he seated himself at his desk and grabbed his paper and pen to reply to her immediately.

 

_Hey Merrill,_

_Thanks for your letter. I really enjoyed reading it, especially after the day I had! I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Best not to put it down in writing._

_Also thanks for telling me all about Aveline and Donnic. This is Donnic Hendyr, right? I enjoyed reading your account of how they got together. I’m really glad they’re happy too, and I’m glad he treats Aveline well._

_Please don’t worry about the body shots. You don’t need to apologise for anything. Also, there is nothing going on between Isabela and me._

_Of course I still want to talk (and write) to you! How about I visit you tomorrow? I have the day off. I’ll send this letter now so hopefully you’ll receive it before then, and I’ll come and visit you in the alienage unless you write me back a note telling me not to. Is that OK?_

_Yours,_

_Carver_


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill receives Carver's letter and, when Carver visits her, tries to come up with an idea of how to help with Ser Alrik.

Merrill felt agitated. It had been some days since the body shots incident, and her thoughts still seemed to be consumed with Carver. Oh, she’d managed to get things done; she wasn’t a complete idiot — but really, to get this wound up for this long over a _boy?_ It wasn’t like her at all. She didn’t even think she’d managed to get this wound up over Hawke.

For Hawke, it had been more of a placid longing from afar — when he smiled she smiled, when he charmed her she was charmed; but now, she realised, that was all it was. Hawke’s well-built physique (especially considering he was a mage) was definitely worth admiring; but, Merrill now realised, the attraction she’d felt to Hawke had been thin and shallow. Not like the burning, yearning, red-hot passion she now seemed to feel for his brother. It was like she’d been electrified with it.

It was like this had really come out of nowhere. And it was the _last_ thing she wanted.

No. No. She shouldn’t. She didn’t want to be overlooked in favour of another, again. He may or may not like Isabela — Isabela seemed to think he didn’t, but Merrill wasn’t so sure and she knew Isabela often liked to play it cool — but Merrill _couldn’t_ get in the way of her friend’s plans. Or risk coming second best again.

And that was even before you got to the other, more important reasons why Merrill shouldn’t feel the way she did. Like the fact that she was an elf and a mage, and he was a human and a templar.

Merrill sighed, sat up in her bed, and lit the candles on her bedside table; the erotic novel Isabela had lent her flickered into view, an explicitly detailed story about an imaginary elven princess and her human manservant that Merrill had read well into the night with widened eyes and curled toes. It was now late morning, but it was so dim in her hovel one wouldn’t have thought it. The way the alienage buildings were so haphazardly crowded together, next to and on top of each other, with the giant vhenadahl tree in the centre helping to hold some of the higher constructions in place, it was rare for sunlight to reach this place so early.

She stretched down her legs in front of her, and surveyed her body. Knobbly knees, just like her knobbly elbows; her body had nothing like the glorious curves Isabela had. Her clothes (just like the greyish sleeveless tunic she was wearing as a nightgown right now) hung straight down over her tiny waist, instead of clinging to and emphasising her shape like it did for so many other women. Maybe she should get a corset to shape the meagre physical assets she had? That’s what Isabela did, and her ‘assets’ _definitely_ weren’t meagre. Merrill envied Isabela’s voluptuous boobs and bum, her shapely thighs, and the way she sort of swaggered when she walked; the last time Merrill tried strutting sexily the way Isabela did, she fell over.

But this might all even be moot, Merrill thought, as she got up and padded over to her kitchen area. Carver might not even _like_ elves. While the templar had always tried to keep his sex life private, Merrill had been pretty sure that Peaches and Faith had both been human. Hawke had teased Carver about Peaches in the Hanged Man one night, years ago, after finding a letter she had written Carver. It seemed that Carver had nurtured a secret crush on this Peaches, a fun-loving blonde from back in Lothering that earned her nickname from her own Isabela-like curves.

And from what Isabela had said about Faith — although it had taken Merrill a while to cotton on why Isabela teased Carver about her — she had been a human worker at the Blooming Rose. The whorehouse had always made Merrill feel uncomfortable, especially as she’d been mistaken for one of the Blooming Rose’s many elven whores the last time Hawke took them all to the Rose on a mission for someone (or something) else. Perhaps Carver was secretly a bit of a ladies’ man — there did use to be all those women down at the docks who would eye him up and chat him up, after all; and even if he always brushed them off with a curt ‘Thanks, but no thanks’, Merrill wouldn’t have been surprised if he actually enjoyed it.

Her attention was suddenly caught by a letter on her doormat that had either been slid under the front door or dropped from on high through an open window. As Merrill walked over to pick it up, her heart jolted as she saw the Gallows seal on it. Before the mix of anticipation, excitement and dread could paralyse her, she tore it open and devoured its contents, sinking weak-kneed into a chair once she’d finished.

‘“There is nothing going on between Isabela and me”,’ Merrill whispered to herself in relief as she re-read his words. ‘So I really _was_ wrong. Again.’

But just as soon as the relief washed over her, the anxiety flooded in. Why did she even care so much? Why _should_ she? It still didn’t mean it was a good idea. It still didn’t mean she stood a chance, anyway. She’d got quite used to her feelings being unrequited by now, for sacrificing her own wants for the good of others, surely one more couldn’t be more upsetting than Mahariel or Hawke…

A knock on her front door caused Merrill to start in her chair. Creators, this couldn’t be him already, could it? She glanced through his letter again — yes, he said he was coming today, and around this time, too. _Mythal’enaste_. She put Carver’s letter to one side, and went to the door to let him in.

‘ _Aneth ara_ , Carver,’ Merrill greeted him, before blushing as she realised she was still in her thin nightgown. ‘Sorry about this. I only just got out of bed…’

‘Hi, Merrill,’ he stammered, his own face going red as he took her in. ‘Should I—should I come back later?’

‘No, please do come in,’ she muttered, fixing her gaze on his chest; she noticed he was wearing the same sleeveless Fereldan man-at-arms outfit he used to before he joined the Order. ‘I was just reading your letter, actually…’

‘I bought some food I thought you’d like,’ Carver told her as she put his bag of shopping down and unslung the sword from his back; somewhere one of the rats scuttled, and Merrill inwardly cringed with embarrassment. ‘Thought I’d save you getting lost round Lowtown market today…’

‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes following another rat that was running through the wall and out into the alienage courtyard; Carver seemed not to notice, but Merrill was sure he must have done. ‘By the Dread Wolf! Why is my house always a mess when people are here? It’s clean sometimes, I swear.’

‘It’s still much nicer than Gamlen’s place,’ Carver said. ‘Bigger too. At least you didn’t paint your walls with shit and beer.’

Merrill gasped. ‘Your uncle didn’t _really_ , did he?’

Carver shrugged as he unloaded his grocery shopping, putting the food away in the storage cupboards. ‘Dunno, but it smelt like it.’

Merrill walked over to him. ‘Here, I should do that, not you. You’re my guest.’ She sighed. ‘I’m a _ter-ri-ble_ host. I’m so sorry. I should have invited you to sit down, and got you something to eat or drink, and instead you’re packing away my groceries, and—’

Carver laughed. ‘Hey, Merrill, it’s fine,’ he said, after packing away the last of the grocery shopping, and Merrill privately admired his bare arms and the way the bulky muscles moved underneath his skin. ‘I just wanted to help. Don’t worry about me. It’s just—nice to be here.’

‘Well, I should prob-ab-ly get changed… into something less scruffy, anyway…’

‘You don’t look scruffy,’ he told her, looking her up and down. ‘You look fine to me. I—I don’t mind that you’re in your nightclothes.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill said, looking up at him, feeling the colour spread across her cheeks again. _I want to kiss him_ , she thought. _I really want to kiss him_.

They stared at each other, breathing evenly and deeply, for what seemed an age; their bodies had drifted towards each other by some indefinable magnetism while the atmosphere seemed to crackle with electric sexual tension and surely, Merrill thought, he could feel it too? Or was it all up in her own head?

Maybe it was all up in her own head. He couldn’t _possibly_ feel the same way.

‘Thank you for your letter!’ Merrill sang, breaking the spell as Carver blinked in surprise. ‘It was very nice to hear from you. And thank you for coming over.’

‘No problem,’ Carver muttered; perhaps, Merrill thought, it might be easier not to be reduced to a breathless wreck in his presence if she just concentrated on trying to maintain some semblance of normal conversation. ‘Just nice to be here after the last few days I’ve had…’

‘Oh?’ Merrill was curious. ‘What happened? Make yourself comfortable — I’ll get you something to drink…’

After making him some basic tea from the tea leaves she had and thrice-boiled water (Merrill was thankful to see Carver accepted and drank it gratefully; she was worried from her afternoon with Leandra that Carver would expect his tea served in the fancy Hightown noble way his mother now seemed to prefer), Carver told her what had happened in the Gallows, and his worries over what Ser Alrik would do if he ever found Ella. Merrill was horrified.

‘That’s—that’s horrible,’ she exclaimed, eyes wide. ‘Creators. I’m so sorry, Carver.’

Carver shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t really have a lot in common with the other templars as it is, because I came from a family steeped in magic and they didn’t. So many templars fear mages in a way that I just… don’t. I mean, the Knight Commander actually believes mages are just demons disguised as harmless humans or elves, waiting to burst out when the moment’s right. That disturbs me enough, but— _this_?’

‘It sounds as if Anders was right about the Gallows,’ Merrill observed, half to herself. ‘What was it Cullen once said to Hawke — that mages “aren’t people like you and me”? It sounds like that’s how many templars think.’

‘I suppose because of my family I just can’t see it like that. I don’t really understand magic, but growing up I just saw it as normal. Father, Garrett and Bethany were just people that could do things I couldn’t, and had to deal with things I didn’t. But I can’t explain that to the other templars — or talk about my family at all, especially with my brother being an apostate.’

‘No, I suppose you can’t,’ Merrill agreed. ‘I suppose none of them had even met any mages before they became templars, and that’s why they’re scared in a way that you’re not. But that _never_ excuses what this Ser Alrik is doing.’

Carver sighed heavily. ‘What do I do, Merrill? How can I stop him? He’s one of the Knight Commander’s favourites. He didn’t even get disciplined when he made another mage Tranquil for no reason. I know he’ll try to make my life hell when he gets back. And I don’t even want to think about what he might do to the missing mages if he finds them.’

‘There must be something we can do,’ Merrill said, frowning in concentration at her mug of tea.

They sat in silence then, neither of them looking at each other, both lost in thought. An idea came to Merrill, but she hesitated before sharing it. Would Carver agree with this? Would this just get people into trouble? Would he be angry?

It was no use. She had to speak up; she had to try.

‘Carver,’ she began, tentatively. ‘What do you think happened to the mages who went missing? What have you heard?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I know there’s been rumours of some sort of “mage underground” spiriting them away, but I think there’s more than that. Clearly someone’s breaking them out from inside the Gallows, but I can’t think who.’

‘Is that what your superiors are saying in the Gallows?’

‘Believe it or not, it isn’t. They seem to think the mages are finding their own methods of escape and getting in touch with this so-called mage underground once they’re outside. Or that the mage underground themselves are breaking into the Gallows and somehow stealing the mages away. They send out bands of templars every so often to capture the mage underground’s members, but haven’t had any success so far.’

‘So you’re the only one who suspects that someone inside the Gallows — a templar, even — might be helping them?’

‘Looks like it. I haven’t heard anyone else suggest it.’

‘So… no one’s tried to investigate any further?’

‘Let’s put it this way,’ Carver said, and Merrill forced herself to ignore the way her heart fluttered when he looked at her, ‘ _I’m_ not going to be the one who asks those questions out loud. I’m worried about where they might lead. Or to _whom_ they might lead.’

Merrill nodded, acknowledging the unspoken implication in his words. That settled it, then. She could trust him with her idea, even if he rejected it outright.

‘How about,’ she suggested at last, ‘letting Anders know what Ser Alrik’s up to?’

‘No,’ Carver said instantly. ‘I’m not calling on the abomination for help. Smug shit, all he’ll do is—’

‘You could write to him anonymously,’ Merrill offered. ‘I could make sure he gets the tip-off. He never needs to know it’s from you.’

Carver hesitated before speaking again. ‘OK, but… why? What do you think Anders will do?’

Merrill shrugged. ‘Well, you know how important the cause of mages and mage freedom is to him. If he has an inkling that they’re in danger, maybe he could help protect Ella?’

Carver frowned. ‘Merrill,’ he said, slowly, ‘This is about getting the mage underground themselves to help, isn’t it?’

‘Um, maybe? I don’t really know much about the mage underground, to be honest, so—’

‘But you know as well as I do that Anders is involved in it,’ Carver said. ‘I was there when his friend turned up Tranquil in the Chantry three years ago, Merrill. I had to help kill all those blighted templars. I _know_ he’s up to something, even if I have to turn a blind eye because of…’

‘Your brother,’ Merrill finished for him.

‘Yeah.’

‘Well,’ Merrill shrugged, ‘it was just a suggestion. Do you have any better ideas?’

Carver sighed. ‘I don’t. It’s worth a try, I guess. As long as it doesn’t get back that I had anything to do with this.’

Merrill nodded. ‘Of course it won’t. Although,’ she added sadly, ‘I don’t think Anders would trust it from me if I gave it to him directly. I really do try to be friendly, but he doesn’t seem to like me for some reason. But I can get it to him.’

‘Yeah, he’s an arsehole to you sometimes,’ Carver said. ‘But let’s see what he can do when I write to him. He’d better not get my brother involved, though. Do you have a pen and paper?’ 

   

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill gets Carver’s anonymous tip-off delivered to Anders, and the sexual tension (and some frustration) ramps up another notch…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"Na melana sahlin!"_ = "Your time [to die] has come!" Merrill shouts this Elvish phrase in battle a lot in my games (and actually sounds a little scary doing it), so I thought I should include it. 
> 
> Also, the line from Carver's inner monologue, "Far too cute to be anything but evil", is actually something he says about Tallis if you click on him after she reveals who she's really working for ("The minute I saw her, I knew there was something suspicious. Far too cute to be anything but evil.") in the Mark of the Assassin DLC. I liked it, so I used it here. 
> 
> To be honest, I think Carver just likes dangerous women ;-)

Once Carver had written his letter to Anders — anonymously, although he signed it ‘A Concerned Templar’ — he felt better. Merrill had busied herself with making both of them more tea, and when he finished, she smiled at him, took the letter and went briefly to her door; Carver followed and watched her calling to a young boy in the alienage to deliver it to the healer in Darktown, and the clink of coin told him Merrill was paying the boy at her door handsomely for it.

‘I think I’m slowly getting to know one or two people in the alienage now,’ Merrill was saying as she came back in. ‘Or the children at least. Daren is very good at delivering messages, I’ve heard. I gave him some coin for his family and he’s already run off to Darktown.’

‘I should really be paying him,’ Carver said, rummaging in his own money pouch, but Merrill demurred.

‘Oh, it’s fine, Carver! I mean, you did get my dinner the other day. So I’m just… returning the favour?’

‘I don’t think that’s how it works, Merrill,’ Carver replied, ‘but OK.’ _Shit_ , he thought. _She really doesn’t realise Isabela had set us up on a date, does she? I guess she didn’t even realise Isabela deliberately roped me into doing body shots off her, judging by how embarrassed she got over it. Poor thing._

 _Maybe it’s for the best_ , the other, harsher, voice in Carver’s head reassured him as he watched her walking across her living room, still in her nightie, towards where he’d rested his sword. _She_ is _a blood mage after all — you’ve even seen what she can do with her blood. She’s not harmless. She’s dangerous. Far too cute to be anything but evil_.

‘Oh, you’re too kind,’ Merrill replied, her melodious voice ringing merrily through the room; she still had her back to him as she examined his sword, still encased in its leather scabbard. ‘Creators,’ she said, trying to pick it up, ‘how are you so good at swording, Carver? This thing is heavier than it looks!’

Carver chuckled; he knew he really should be correcting her when she talked about ‘swording’ but if he was honest, he’d grown rather fond of her talking about his swordsmanship skills that way. ‘Because,’ he said, strolling over, ‘you’re supposed to use both hands…’

Merrill tried again with both hands, arms quivering a little as she hoisted both sword and sheath in the air, before lowering it. Carver couldn’t help smirking affectionately at her as she looked up at him in surprise as he arrived at her side.

‘Here,’ he said, holding his hand out, ‘mind if I help show you?’

Merrill nodded. Carver slid his hand under one of hers on the grip of the sword handle; to his surprise Merrill didn’t let go, placing her hand on top of his instead. Carver watched as she smiled to herself for some reason he couldn’t fathom, and positioned herself so her back was up against his chest. Carver paused, surprised by her move, thrilled by the feel of her skin on his as her bare shoulders brushed against him; but nonetheless he reached his other arm around her and in front of her to heft his sword up, marvelling at how she felt with her back pressed against his chest and her body encircled in his arms. Gulping, he unsheathed the sword, and gripped it with both hands.

‘You can put your other hand on top of mine, if—if you like,’ he murmured; Merrill smiled to herself again and obeyed, her long, slender fingers gliding over the back of his large hand; and it was all Carver could do to resist the shudder of pleasure that ran through his body at the feeling of her on him. Her hands on his hands, her body inside his arms, her back and her bum firmly pressed against his chest and his…

 _Down, boy. Don’t get ideas_.

Merrill sighed a (surprisingly) contented sigh, and Carver pressed his cheek against the side of her head, almost cradling her body as she leant into him. Her hair, like her magic, smelled like pine trees and freshly-mown grass and mud after the rain — Merrill once said that Dalish magic relied more on nature than the magic his family or Anders used, and Carver supposed it was why her magic always left behind that aroma right after battle — and Carver had always loved it. It was a smell that reminded him of Ferelden; reminded him of home.

It was a smell of such sweet relief that Carver could almost forget the fact that her magic terrified him as much as it exhilarated him. Her magic was like nothing he’d seen before — this tiny elf who was seemingly so innocent and cuter than a basket of kittens could rip the life out of every creature with sheer raw power, turn the earth and the sky and the trees against them, her blood sussurating with the whispers of demons as it wove through the air, her battle cry of _Na melana sahlin!_  sending chills down his spine every time.

Maker, the _things_ she did to him… and yet here he was, standing with her pressed up against him, breathing her in and trying not to respond to the magic of her scent.

‘Ready?’ he whispered, his mouth as close to her ear as he could get without actually touching; Merrill seemed to shudder as she nodded, and it was all Carver could do not to press his lips against the side of her head.

‘OK,’ he murmured, trying to disguise the shakiness in his voice, ‘one, two, three…’

Carver swung his sword through the air, taking care that Merrill’s hands stayed on his. ‘That’s one basic stroke,’ he explained, desperately trying to sound noncommittal while her body moved against his and drove him to distraction, ‘and that—’ he swung the sword again, ‘is another, and—’

‘Teach me how to do one of your harder moves,’ Merrill said, breathlessly, before twisting her neck to look up at him. Her gorgeous moss-green eyes, flecked with the tiniest hints of hazel and emerald, sparkled with some mischief Carver couldn’t figure out. ‘Teach me — what was that move I’ve seen you do — is it a Whirlwind?’

‘What, the one where I spin round?’ _Maker’s breath, she’s so beautiful. I’d do anything for that face_.

Merrill giggled, her round eyes crinkling at the corners in delight, and Carver gulped and tried again to resist kissing her.

‘Right,’ he said, mind racing, ‘all right then…’

Merrill watched him as he determinedly faced forward and adjusted his grip slightly on his sword, her hands following his, before she turned back to look at their hands and Carver was able to press his head against hers again.

‘Hold tight,’ he said against her ear again, and Merrill giggled, ‘and ready… and… one… two… three…’

They whipped round awkwardly together, Merrill squealing in surprise and laughter, and as she inevitably tripped Carver had to drop his sword to stop Merrill flying forward. He caught her with both arms tight round her waist — tinier in his arms than he’d expected — and pulled her back against him to stop both of them flying forward. Merrill was still laughing and it was so infectious it made him laugh too, even as they both collapsed gracelessly on the floor in a heap of giggles, Merrill firmly in his arms, his face at her neck, her sitting between his thighs, his leg wrapped round one of hers.

‘Oh, Carver,’ Merrill laughed, her hands clutching the muscular forearms that were still wrapped round her waist, ‘that was _so_ funny.’

‘You scared me,’ Carver chuckled, lifting his head from her neck. ‘I thought I was going to drop you.’

Merrill giggled. ‘You caught me very well, Ser Carver.’

Carver’s heart hammered so hard against his chest he swore she could feel it against her back. Especially with the thin material of this nightgown she was wearing… Maker, was that the underside of her breasts he could feel against one of his forearms?

Oh, Maker. She was naked underneath, wasn’t she.

‘Well,’ he chuckled again, trying to keep his tone light, ‘maybe I was trying to be your knight in shining armour.’

‘But you’re not wearing your armour,’ Merrill countered, shifting so that her entire body relaxed against him; and Carver, with his arms still tight around her body, found himself caught between desperately willing his stirring cock back down, and dismay at how his attempt at flirting had fallen flat again. ‘Although that’s probably a good thing. It would be harder to show me how to do that swording move if you were wearing your armour, I suppose.’

Merrill stroked his arms and moved one of her feet towards her so that it was flat on the floor and her knee pointed towards the ceiling; as she did so, her nightgown fell down her leg and revealed an expanse of smooth, pale thigh that almost made Carver choke on his own breath.

‘I suppose,’ Carver repeated dumbly; while the rest of his elated senses were filled with Merrill, his head suddenly seemed to be filled with cotton wool. ‘It would… be heavier, I guess?’

‘Yes,’ Merrill said cheerfully, as she idly stroked his forearm. ‘Wearing so much metal must be heavy! And hot as well. Must be ve-ry uncomfortable to wear all day.’

‘You get used to it,’ Carver mumbled, although he couldn’t help feeling that Merrill had muddled him again.

Merrill made to stand up, and Carver reluctantly let his arms drop so she could do so, immediately missing the feeling of her on his body once she was on her feet. Merrill stalked across the room, dusting her nightgown down, her legs looking endlessly long and enticing from where Carver was sat on the floor, staring after her.

‘I should retrieve my sword,’ he muttered, getting up and picking his sword up from where he’d flung it earlier.

‘Do you want something else to drink?’ Merrill called across the room as he inspected his sword for any damage. ‘Or maybe something to eat?’

‘No,’ Carver answered, replacing his sword in its scabbard; he had his back to her so that she wouldn’t notice the slight bulge at the front of his trousers. He had to get out of here before he completely lost control of himself. ‘I… probably should be going, actually.’

‘Really?’ Merrill sounded so disappointed that Carver mentally kicked himself for what he’d just said. ‘But you’ve not been here very long! And I can be a good host, I swear.’

‘You _are_ a good host, Merrill,’ Carver reassured her, busying himself with his sword so that he didn’t have to look at her. ‘Perfect, actually.’ _Like the rest of you. Maker, you’re so utterly perfect and you don’t even realise it._

‘Then why do you have to go so soon?’ she almost-wailed, and it cut Carver in the heart to hear the plaintiveness in her voice. ‘I thought you had the day off?’

 _Shit. She’s right. What do I tell her?_ ‘I… er… yeah. I thought maybe I should…’ he racked his brain for a suitable fib to use as an excuse, ‘visit Isabela, maybe, and then…’

‘Oh, right,’ Merrill said, and by the acid tone of her Dalish lilt Carver immediately realised he’d said the wrong thing. _Fuck. Shitting, blighted fuck_. ‘You’re going to visit _Isabela_ , even though you _say_ there’s nothing between you…’

‘What? There isn’t. Isabela and I are just friends, nothing more…’

‘Fine,’ Merrill snapped, and Carver had never seen Merrill look so angry before. ‘Just get out, Carver. Go and see Isabela then, if I’m so dull and boring…’

‘You’re not dull and boring! What are you talking about—?’

Merrill’s green eyes flashed at him. She hissed like an angry kitten, and Carver hated how cute she looked even though he was reeling at her sudden, unexpected rage. ‘Just go!’ she cried. ‘Get out, and may the Dread Wolf take you!’

It was something he’d heard her shout at their enemies many times, but now she was turning it against him. His temper flared. All the tension and repression and frustration he’d felt over the past few weeks came rolling back over him, and fused together in one cannonball of emotion. ‘Jealous, are you?’ he shouted, taking two steps towards her. ‘Why else are you yelling at me?’

Merrill flushed, but she snorted in disdain. ‘What would I be jealous of?’ she goaded him, crossing her arms defensively.

‘If _you_ want Isabela to yourself so much,’ Carver snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at the elf in front of him, ‘ _you_ should get together with her and I can finally tell her to stop dragging me over for you to rub it in my face.’

Merrill looked stunned; Carver momentarily thought she was going to back down but by the tone of her voice, Merrill remained stubbornly furious. ‘What are you talking about? You’re the one who flirts with her all the time, not me!’

‘And you’re the one who won’t shut up about her boobs and legs!’

Merrill dropped her arms and marched over to him, visibly fuming; Carver thought she was going to slap him, but she stopped about an arm’s length away from him, clenching her fists, as if she was holding back like he was trying to. ‘Well, I thought you two fancied each other,’ she seethed, ‘so I thought I’d help by encouraging you. What else am I supposed to think when you two are always flirting with each other?’

‘Isabela flirts with everyone!’

‘And _you_ flirt right back!’ Merrill ranted. ‘Don’t try to blame _that_ on Isabela!’

 _Wait — you thought my own light-hearted witty banter with Isabela meant I’m interested in her?_ Carver’s heart sank. _How do I tell you I feel so much easier around a woman I don’t want, like Isabela, than a woman I_ do _want — like you?_

‘I was just giving back as good as I got!’ he blustered, desperately ignoring how mortified he felt. ‘Why do _you_ care so much, if you don’t fancy her yourself?’

‘You think _I_ fancy Isabela?’ Merrill’s eyes were wide in surprise but her voice was still angry and scornful. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Carver.’

‘Why are you shouting at me then, if you don’t fancy her?’

Merrill paused, and for a moment Carver thought he’d won. ‘Well, you were supposed to be visiting me,’ she cried, still aggrieved, ‘and then the next thing I know you’re rushing off to see Isabela — what am I supposed to think?’

Carver sighed, his temper subsiding as his guilt rose. Merrill had a point; it _did_ look rude, even if she couldn’t possibly know the real reason he’d been so keen to get away. Isabela had been an excuse he’d come up with on the spot, and it had backfired horribly.

‘Merrill,’ he said, voice gentler now, ‘you’re right. It _was_ rude of me, and I’m sorry. I’ll stay a bit longer if you like?’

‘Why?’ she retorted, still looking hurt. ‘You don’t want to be here anyway.’

‘No, no — I do, I promise I do. I just thought…’ _I felt awkward — all you did was ask me to show you some sword moves and I was barely able to control myself around you_. ‘I just thought you wouldn’t want me to take up too much of your time, that’s all.’

‘Why would I think that.’ Merrill’s voice was tight, and to Carver’s surprise, bitter. ‘I hardly get any visitors apart from your brother as it is. Even Isabela and Varric only call occasionally. So why would I want to get rid of one of the only other visitors I get.’

Before Carver could even think about what he was doing, he’d crossed the room and taken Merrill in his arms. Merrill froze for a fraction of a second, and Carver cursed himself for doing the wrong thing; but then she relaxed into him and slid her own arms around him. Carver buried his nose in her dark hair, inhaling her scent deeply, while Merrill burrowed herself deeper into him. She pressed the entire length of her body against his, her bare feet between his and her head resting against his shoulder, and it was _so hard_ not to drop a gentle kiss on top of her head when she was as close as this.

They stood like that for ages, Carver tenderly stroking her back while she embraced him tight, as if she never wanted to let him go.

‘Mmmm,’ Merrill murmured, and Carver dipped his head so he could hear her better. ‘This is nice.’

‘Yeah,’ Carver agreed. ‘Merrill. I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘I’m sorry too, Carver. I don’t—I don’t really know what came over me.’

‘It’s fine,’ he said, stroking her, and she nestled happily against him. ‘I’m fine.’

Merrill sighed and let go of him, her small hands catching in his as she stepped back, their argument completely forgotten. She smiled at him as she held both his hands in front of her and squeezed them lightly in hers, and Carver’s heart started thumping again.

‘Stay,’ she whispered, her large green eyes pleading with him so heartrendingly Carver couldn’t possibly say no. However, when he squeezed her hands back, she dropped her gaze, as if looking at him was suddenly too much. ‘I mean… have something to eat, at least?’

‘Of course.’

Merrill smiled again, but wouldn’t look at him; she let go of one of his hands and led him by the other to the kitchen area. Carver was struck by how _right_ her hand felt in his — that her hand, like the rest of her, was so dainty and slender and small compared to his, and yet she was a perfect fit.

 _She’s a blood mage, Carver_ , hissed the templar in him. _Don’t be deceived by her pretty face, or her lyrical voice, or your friendship, or the way she makes you want to hold her and protect her. She can boil the blood in your body, rend your mind with visions of horror, before you can even raise your sword_.

But even as he tried to admonish himself, telling himself to get a grip and resist her, Carver knew that he was already too far gone, already in too deep, and that perhaps he always had been.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Varric tries to persuade Isabela that she’s lost her bet, Merrill and Carver have lunch, and Hawke recruits help to deal with Ser Alrik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with e-book front cover! :-D Many thanks to leo-fina.tumblr.com for an excellent Carver/Merrill art render that I was able to create my "book cover" from.

‘Rivaini,’ Varric began good-humouredly, placing his cards face down on the table, ‘I think it’s time you paid up, don’t you?’

‘Already?’ Amused, Isabela put her bottle of wine down on the table and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. ‘We haven’t even finished this game of Diamondback, and you’re already demanding I hand you your winnings?’

‘No, _not_ for this Diamondback game,’ Varric corrected, ‘although I wouldn’t say no, if you’re offering.’ He took a gulp from his tankard of beer. ‘The, uh, _other_ bet we’ve got goin’ on.’

‘Now look,’ Isabela said, leaning forward in her seat with a dangerous smile on her face. ‘If this is about my relic again, I’ve already told you: that’s off-limits. I refuse to place any bets when it comes to something so important.’

Varric cackled. ‘I wasn’t talking about your relic this time,’ he said, amiably, ‘although it’s good to know your friends’ love lives aren’t something you consider too important to bet on. Pay up, Rivaini. You know you’ve lost.’

‘Oh. Them.’ Isabela leaned back in her chair. ‘Give it time, Varric, it’s only been a few days. I daresay Merrill will recover from the shock of Carver drinking body shots off her belly button.’

‘You sure about that?’ Varric raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Daisy seemed pretty upset about the whole thing when I saw her the morning after. Looked like she hadn’t slept, either.’

Isabela laughed. ‘Of course she hadn’t slept! She was probably awake half the night wishing he could bend her over a table!’

‘Uh, Rivaini? This is _Merrill_ we’re talking about? Not you?’

‘Well, maybe not bend her over a table, then. Maybe… frolic with her in the woods. Or something.’

Now it was Varric’s turn to laugh. ‘Junior isn’t the frolicking type, Isabela, and you know it.’

‘Oh, come on. If Merrill asked him to frolic in the woods, he would — even if he denied it afterwards. You know that as well as I do.’

‘Hmph. Well, all I know is that Merrill was upset and agitated the day after. She didn’t seem like she was in any mood to frolic with anyone any time soon.’

Isabela huffed. ‘As I said, give it _time_ , Varric. This _will_ work. Trust me.’

‘Huh. That’s not what you said when you turned up in my suite that night, complaining about “those two dumb kids”.’

‘Well, they are.’ Isabela placed a card down on the table. ‘It’s not my fault they both insist on missing the obvious.’

Varric planted his own card on the table. ‘And what is the “obvious”, exactly?’

Isabela gave Varric an incredulous look. ‘That they’re attracted to each other? Or have _you_ missed that as well?’

Varric chuckled. ‘You think that’s obvious, Rivaini? Or are you just seeing what you want to see? Your turn, by the way.’

Isabela sighed exasperatedly. ‘Of course it’s obvious — to anyone who’s spent as much time with them as I have. Carver doesn’t want to admit he’s crazy about her, and Merrill doesn’t realise yet that she’s falling for him.’

Varric gave a disbelieving snort. ‘Well, I don’t know about Junior, but we’re going to have to disagree over Daisy, I think. I’ll “give it time” like you asked, if only to give _you_ time to realise how badly you’ve lost.’

‘I haven’t lost,’ Isabela insisted, playing her card at last. ‘They _will_ get together, you’ll see. In fact, _you_ might want to be the one paying up right now, not me.’

‘Sure,’ Varric grinned. ‘You keep telling yourself that.’

***

 _I’m holding his hand_ , Merrill thought as she led Carver across the room to her small kitchen area. _Creators, we’re holding hands, and how did that even happen_?

His hand was so large, yet it felt so comfortable in hers, like it was meant to be there. When Merrill had to drop his hand to rummage through the food he’d brought, he seemed as reluctant as she was to let go.

‘What would you like for lunch, Carver?’ she called with her back to him; she felt far too bashful and agitated to look at him.

‘I’ll have whatever you have,’ came his answer. ‘Shall I help you prepare it?’

Merrill placed a leg of ham, a hunk of cheese and some vegetables on her worktop. She still couldn’t look at him. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

Carver sliced some ham and arranged them on a plate while she did the same with the cheese. They stood next to each other as they worked, while Merrill hummed a Dalish tune to try to calm her nerves. Somehow they’d gone from a nervous yet pleasant visit between friends, to the horrors of Ser Alrik, to messing about with swording, to having a row (because of that sudden fleeting pang of jealousy Merrill had felt over Isabela, and where had that even come from? That wasn’t like her _at all_ ), to hugging and holding hands before lunch. Merrill was still reeling from the emotional whiplash she’d just been through in the space of an hour or two.

Even more awkwardly, ever since she’d picked up his sword — out of sheer curiosity and nothing else — it had been as if she hadn’t been able to control herself, and she felt embarrassed over it. She’d deliberately manoeuvred her body so that he was forced to put his arms around her, to touch her, to feel his body against hers, skin on skin, as he demonstrated how to use the sword. She suddenly wanted to touch him at every opportunity, feel his hands and arms on her, his hot breath against her ear sending shivers up her spine, his face in her hair… even now, while preparing lunch, they were brushing lightly against each other, and Merrill swore it was totally involuntary.

‘Sorry,’ they said in unison at one point, but it happened again and again. Merrill’s face burned as much as her groin did; and by the Creators, was she wet down there? While not wearing any underwear, standing in her thin nightgown next to him?

‘Have you finished chopping the ham, Carver?’ she asked in a desperate attempt to redirect the lustful thoughts racing through her head.

‘Er, yeah. I think so. Is this enough for both of us?’

He wasn’t looking at her, but he was bright red. Before Merrill could register what she was doing, she slid her arm round him as she inspected his plate; Carver put his arm round her as well, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

‘I think that’s enough,’ she said, leaning into him as she spoke. Creators, was it no longer possible to talk to him without touching him?

His visit was supposed to calm her down and sort out… whatever it was she felt since the body shots night. Instead it was making everything worse, and shockingly Merrill felt like she couldn’t help but _want_ it to.

‘That’s… good,’ Carver said.

Merrill slipped her arm from around him and served up the plates on her dining table, Carver trailing silently behind her. They sat and ate with barely a word passing between them. Merrill stared down at her plate, twisting her legs round themselves tightly as she sat, worried that Carver would somehow be able to detect how wet she was down there if she didn’t have her legs so tightly crossed. Every so often their eyes met across the table, and more often than not, they didn’t look away.

 _I like him_ , Merrill realised, a fond smile creeping across her face, mirroring his. _I can’t hide it from myself any more. I_ really _like him, and… oh, Creators. What do I do? What am I supposed to do? I don’t know how to handle this. He’s—_

‘…so beautiful,’ Carver murmured quietly as he stared at her.

‘Yes, the food is beautiful,’ Merrill blurted, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, ‘I agree. Thank you for bringing it over! _Ma serannas_.’

Now it was Carver’s turn to flush. ‘I—of course. The food is—beautiful, I guess? Um. Thanks for lunch, Merrill.’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ Merrill said, ignoring how soft her insides went when he said her name. ‘And thank you, again, for bringing it.’

_He’s a templar, Merrill! A very handsome and a very nice templar, but still, a templar. You can’t—you mustn’t—_

_But then you weren’t supposed to use blood magic either. A human templar? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been willing to explore the ‘forbidden’. You’ve been using blood magic for years and nothing bad has happened. Maybe this will be all right, too._

He knew she was a blood mage, after all. He’d always known what she was, just like she knew what he was, and yet — here they were.

Merrill looked down at her plate again, and squeezed her eyes shut. She had too much to do, she couldn’t afford to think about Carver. She had her eluvian work, restoring elvhen lore for the sake of her People, whether the clan or anyone else approved or not; and that _had_ to come first.

 _You were always reckless, Merrill_ , Keeper Marethari once chided her. _Combined with your endless curiosity, be careful it doesn’t lead you into trouble one day_.

And yet her curiosity, supposed recklessness and willingness to be open-minded might lead to the thing that could save them. When it came to long-held prejudices — blood magic, _shemlen_ , city elves, courtship, or anything else — the clan could be so stubbornly blinkered it was frustrating. Even Keeper Marethari, who admitted to her own curiosity about the eluvian, closed her mind to the possibility of finding out more and helping the Dalish with new knowledge. It was like they didn’t _want_ to adapt, didn’t want to change things as they currently stood, even if it might ensure their survival to do so…

‘Are you OK, Merrill?’

Merrill opened her eyes. She realised she had been scrunching them up tight, and he must have noticed. ‘Fine. Why would I not be?’

‘I dunno. I just wondered—am I bothering you?’

 _He’s really very sweet_ , Merrill thought. _Which makes it all very awkward when I have to persuade him to go after asking him to stay_. ‘Of course not, Carver! I was just thinking—well. I have some…’ she tried to think of an excuse, ‘some… work to do, this afternoon? So I was thinking that maybe I should get on with that…’

‘Oh.’ He looked disappointed, but took the hint. ‘Well. I guess I should leave you to it, then. Thanks again for lunch.’

 _It’s for the best_ , Merrill told herself after he left, following a long, lingering hug goodbye that made her insides go soft again. _He’s nice, and being with him is nice, but the eluvian_ has _to be more important_.

***

‘Daisy!’ Varric greeted her as Merrill sauntered into his suite. ‘Good to see you! I can’t stick around much longer, though. Hawke here was just asking for my help.’

‘ _Aneth ara_ , Varric,’ Merrill replied. ‘I was looking for Isabela, and I thought she might be in here. Hello, Hawke!’

‘Merrill,’ Hawke grinned, enveloping her in a big friendly hug; there was a time when Merrill would have done anything for that hug (and, she was starting to suspect, Hawke probably knew it too), but after Carver’s emotionally-charged visit earlier, she found herself wishing Hawke was his brother. ‘I was just coming to take Varric to Darktown this evening, nothing so exciting, I’m afraid…’

‘Oh,’ Merrill said, astonished at this revelation. ‘What happened in Darktown?’

‘Well, Hawke was just about to tell me,’ Varric said. ‘Blondie needs your help, does he?’

‘Indeed,’ answered Hawke, ‘and I think you should come along.’

He told Varric and Merrill what Anders had learnt about the Tranquil Solution in the Gallows, and once he’d finished, Merrill spoke up.

‘Hawke, I’m coming with you.’

Hawke looked surprised, but composed himself quickly. ‘Merrill,’ he chuckled in an affectionate tone, ‘you don’t have to. I was thinking of asking Aveline, if she’s free…’

‘No,’ Merrill interjected, and Hawke and Varric looked surprised at her firmness. She set her jaw. ‘I want to help. I’ll be fine.’

‘Daisy,’ Varric tried to persuade her, ‘we might have to fight templars, and three mages and an archer against templars, especially with their powers, could be kinda tough…’

‘I don’t care,’ Merrill dismissed him. Much as she liked Varric, now was _really_ not the time for him to treat her like a fragile little flower. ‘Did Anders tell you who told him, Hawke?’

A shadow flickered across Hawke’s face before he answered. ‘Well, Anders has a… contact… in the Gallows who mentioned it yesterday; and then earlier today he received a note from an anonymous “concerned templar”. We don’t know who it was, and neither do the rest of the mage underground — but the anonymous note confirmed everything Anders’s contact told him, so we have to act tonight.’

‘Well, then, assuming Anders’s information is reliable,’ Merrill pressed, ‘the mages in the Circle are in danger. And I want to help stop Ser Alrik. He must be stopped.’

 _If they say no_ , Merrill thought, _I’m going anyway. I’m not doing this for Anders, or Kirkwall, or even the mages in the Circle. Carver’s helped keep me safe so far, helped keep all of us safe so far. I need to keep him safe now_.

But then Hawke and Varric exchanged glances, and Merrill knew she’d triumphed. ‘Very well, then,’ Hawke said at last, slinging his staff over his shoulder with one burly arm. ‘You’re coming with us to Darktown, Merrill. We’re leaving now.’ 

   

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver deals with the aftermath of what happened to Ser Alrik. 
> 
> (Content warning for descriptions of death/corpses and gore.)

It had been almost three weeks, and neither Ser Alrik, his complement of men, nor either of the missing mages had returned. Carver’s worry over Ella gradually became mystification over what had happened to Alrik, not least because the punishment he expected when the latter returned was being delayed.

To say the Knight-Commander was raging was an understatement. A band of templars was promptly dispatched by Knight-Captain Cullen to look for their missing brethren after they’d disappeared for almost a fortnight, and it had been a week since they’d been seen themselves.

Until today, when they’d returned requesting body bags.

‘Maker’s breath,’ Cullen said, as Carver met him in his office for a debriefing after supervising a successful Harrowing. ‘To think that we’ve not only lost Ser Alrik, but a full complement of templars! Bad enough we’ve lost so many over the years, but to lose even more… and one of our Knight-Lieutenants at that…’

Carver’s interest was piqued. ‘Ser? What do you mean, “lost Ser Alrik and a full complement of templars”?’

The Knight-Captain sighed, and pointed to the report on his desk. ‘I was going to convene the Order to formally announce it, but half of them know already. Here. You may as well read this, Ser Carver.’

Carver picked up and read the report his superior had indicated. ‘Their bodies were found in the lyrium smuggling tunnels underneath the Gallows,’ he commented. ‘Ser, I didn’t even know there were lyrium smuggling tunnels underneath the Gallows.’

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There were tunnels from the Undercity to pretty much everywhere, Carver already knew that. Including to the cellars of the Hawke Estate.

Cullen leaned forward on his desk, palms flat on the tabletop. ‘Secret tunnels under the Gallows are the least of our worries, Carver. Did you read the rest?’

Carver glanced again at the report. Scorch marks charring the walls and the bodies… crossbow bolts, possibly of dwarven make, pinning some of the corpses… signs they had been looted… a ‘demon of unknown origin’ had likely killed them… a tangled ball of twine at the scene…

 _Oh, fuck_.

Carver swallowed, and looked up at Cullen again. So many things were going round in his head, but he needed to keep calm, to choose his words carefully. He exhaled before speaking. ‘What do _you_ make of this report, ser?’

The Knight-Captain smiled a tired, worn smile at him; Carver suspected that it was more an involuntary grimace at this point. ‘Ser Margitte does like to embellish her reports with irrelevant details — I don’t think we needed to know that someone dropped a ball of twine in the tunnels at some point, or the names of some of the weeds down there — but the rest of it certainly concerns me. What is this “demon of unknown origin”, and where is it now? Does it still pose a threat to Kirkwall? There are no signs that the templars slayed it, according to Margitte’s account.’

‘I agree, Knight-Captain,’ Carver replied. ‘It concerns me, too.’ _But for very different reasons than I suspect it concerns you_ , he thought, as an idea occurred to him. ‘Do you think we should inspect the area for ourselves, ser? I’m happy to help bring the bodies back if it means we can try and shed more light on what happened.’

‘I suppose it can’t hurt,’ Cullen conceded. ‘They are not far from the Gallows, and we can also inspect the tunnels at the same time. We may well have to run drills through them in future to prevent this sort of thing happening again. I will arrange for you and some other templars to come with me later.’

***

In a way, Carver had been glad to go with Cullen to retrieve the bodies of the slain templars. He hoped it might help — at least a little bit — to take his mind off the other topic that had gnawed away at him over the past few weeks.

Merrill.

He thought he’d been making some progress with Merrill — he swore the last time they’d hugged goodbye, she looked like she’d wanted to kiss him as much as he’d wanted to kiss her — so it was rather a surprise to have heard absolutely nothing from her since. Not even a short note.

Maker, it _hurt_ , if he were being honest. All he wanted — all he’d ever wanted — was her. Right from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, that day at the Sundermount, when they met for the first time and Garrett had been so short with her that Carver had felt obliged to make up for it. _Ignore my older brother, Miss,_ he’d gallantly said to Merrill, _he’s being more of an arse than usual. I’m Carver Hawke_.

Even his horror at her use of blood magic to open that barrier hadn’t dimmed what he felt. He’d always tried to dismiss it, to tell himself that whatever he felt was nothing more than wanting to get into her knickers — but he probably always had known, deep down, that it was more than that. Once he’d met Merrill, it had been pretty much the beginning of the end of his frequent trips to the Blooming Rose.

(Not that that was necessarily a bad thing — the Knight-Commander was known to conduct raids on the whorehouse and Carver didn’t want to literally get caught with his pants down; but he also found that once he’d joined the Order, sleeping with the same workers at the Rose that his templar brethren did just… didn’t appeal.)

Out of all the Blooming Rose workers he’d slept with, Faith had been his favourite before he stopped going. Faith hadn’t seemed to miss _him_ , even if she missed his coin; and looking back Carver couldn’t really blame her — back then, he cared only for himself and his own pleasure. Carver had even managed to pretend to himself that she’d been some sort of girlfriend… until one night he’d gambled away all his money and she deserted him for another client, and Carver was forced to watch in the background as the man showed him exactly how you were supposed to please a woman; and Carver, drunk and inadequate and sexually thwarted, had dealt with his feelings of inferiority and betrayal by throwing a punch at the man’s head.

But it was Merrill’s disapproving face, that night he’d got kicked out of the Blooming Rose and turned up drunk on her doorstep, that finally put paid to his gambling and whoring once and for all. Without a word, Merrill made him feel ashamed of how he was wasting his money, wasting his life, wasting _himself_. He wanted to prove to her that he was a better man — Maker, he wanted to _be_ a better man. A man that Merrill deserved.

Shit. He had it _bad_. And just when he thought he might — _finally_ — be getting somewhere, she’d pulled the plug on whatever burgeoning, tentative rapport they might have been developing, and Carver was left stranded and adrift once again.

 _You’re one to talk, Carver. Remember when you yourself ran scared from her — for three whole years? You have no right to criticise_.

But Carver just couldn’t get his head around how one minute, they’d been all over each other, and the next… nothing. He’d written to Isabela, but she’d simply replied that Merrill had told her she was ‘too busy’; Carver had crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fire in his disappointment. His mother had come to visit him in the Gallows, but despite his hints, hoping to hear if she’d seen the elf recently, his mother made no comment — after the argument they’d had, Leandra seemed to want to avoid the subject of Merrill entirely, lest she upset her son again.

At one point he’d actually gone to the Hanged Man to visit Isabela, hoping to bump into Merrill, but Merrill wasn’t there and a baffled Isabela apparently hadn’t been able to persuade her to come to the Hanged Man for weeks. Carver had been so glum he managed to irritate the usually easy-going Isabela with his silent brooding, and then Varric came over and smirked so much about some bet he had with Isabela that the pirate herself got annoyed and stormed off.

After entertaining Varric by playing (and losing) a round of Wicked Grace with him, Carver had left. He’d tried going to the alienage on his way back to the Gallows, but when confronted with Merrill’s door, his nerve failed him and he left without knocking.

Carver had buried himself in his duties, exercise workouts and sword drills to try and take his mind off things. Somehow, there was something about hurling all your brute strength at something, pushing yourself beyond the point of exertion and muscles that ached so much they screamed, that calmed one’s racing agitated mind. Maybe it was physical punishment, or mental punishment; but if bingeing on strenuous workouts helped him stop worrying, made him so tired he was actually able to sleep at night, it was worth it.

He thought he might have even been successful… until Ser Margitte’s report had reminded him of what he was trying not to think about. 

***

The tunnels stank. An acrid smell of death lingered around the place, while the tunnels themselves were so dusty even the red stone beneath them could barely be seen beneath the grime and scree. The odd green weed grew through the cracks as the only sign of life they could see, while the hard grey walls were indeed covered with the scorch marks Ser Margitte’s report narrated, as well as splatters of dried blood.

The report hadn’t said, but to Carver, the scorch marks looked as if they might have been the result of fireballs raining down on the place. And there was one person Carver could think of in this city that liked raining fireballs and lightning down on the place…

And if _that_ person was who Carver thought he was… then Carver was not happy about who this ‘demon of unknown origin’ had roped in to help him, explicitly after his note pleaded not to involve anyone outside the mage underground.

The bodies themselves had already started decomposing, and as they marched near where the corpses lay, Carver was suddenly hit with the stench of rotting flesh and almost choked on it. Ser Alrik lay in the middle of the bodies, his silverite armour crushed and blackened, blood dried on his templar skirts, his creepily glowing eyes now extinguished of all life. Carver couldn’t feel any pity for him as he looked down at his dead face.

Ser Alrik’s visage buzzed angrily with a cloud of black flies, and was so bruised and bloodstained and battered it was impossible to see the black eyes Carver had given him. It had clearly been a violent, brutal battle, and Carver was glad.

‘Sweet blood of Andraste,’ Cullen exclaimed, trying not to vomit, while men all around them retched, ‘it is even worse than Ser Margitte’s report. I suppose all we can do is clear the bodies and inform the families of our men.’

Carver nodded, and crouched down to work. He avoided Ser Alrik’s body, choosing instead to pull the crossbow bolts out of the one of the others — poor Ser Meson, a new initiate and archer, who’d been so enthusiastic and eager to please, and whom Carver knew hadn’t been one of Ser Alrik’s usual band of mage-haters. Carver couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sorrow — Ser Meson had been a good kid, one whom Carver had felt might have made a responsible and decent templar. It had been the twenty-year-old’s first outing as a full templar, and he wouldn’t have been able to say no even if he had wanted to… and now he was dead.

Carver inspected the arrowhead of the first bolt he pulled out thoughtfully. There was only one crossbow in this entire city that used this type of dwarven bolt, and it confirmed everything he had suspected on reading Ser Margitte’s report. He wondered if the rest of the templars had any idea.

The ball of twine had rolled off to one side, near some spindleweed, and Carver quietly retrieved it and slipped it into his pouch before anyone could notice him doing so. He pulled some of the bolts from more bodies, helped the others drag the corpses into bodybags to be heaved back to the Gallows, before finally making his way over to the bodybag Ser Alrik was lying in, pulled some way away from where the others were still working. He could make out the outline of the older templar’s figure through the brown, baggy material, and he stood over it and surveyed the sack without the slightest iota of sympathy.

 _Serves you right for threatening everything and everyone I care about, you bastard. You’d have made Garrett and Merrill Tranquil_ — _and done worse_ — _just to get your revenge on me. Thank the Maker you will never touch them now. I hope they made you suffer before they killed you_.

Carver smirked to himself, raised his foot, and brought his heavy metal boot down with a sickening crunch right onto where Ser Alrik’s face was, grinding his sabaton in with some satisfaction, before walking off. If anyone ever noticed Alrik’s crushed skull later, he decided — or even tried to question him about it — Carver would simply say he tripped and fell.

***

Cullen allowed him to visit the Chantry that evening. Carver didn’t bother to tell his Knight-Captain why, and fortunately he didn’t ask. Carver had never particularly been one to find respite in the Chantry — that was always much more Bethany’s thing — but right now he felt like it was the right thing for his unsettled mind.

It’s not as if Carver had never believed; he always had. However, Bethany — kind, sweet, sensitive Bethany — had been the devout one in the family, and loved going to the Chantry in Lothering to listen to Sister Leliana’s stories. Carver went along partly to keep Bethany company, partly to make sure nothing happened to his apostate twin, but also because Sister Leliana had been a _very_ pretty redhead — even if she rendered him so shy he could only moon around her in sullen silence.

Unlike Bethany, though, Carver tended to feel that religion was a more private, personal affair. Malcolm hadn’t been religious, even if Leandra had been; and agnostic Garrett had never had any enthusiasm for the Chantry or anything it represented. Apart from the time Carver had to pull an eighteen-year-old Garrett away from a templar he tried to seduce, on the very first time Garrett got drunk, his older brother avoided the Chantry in Lothering as much as possible.

But it wasn’t as if the twins, or Leandra, had been unquestioningly devoted Andrastians: it was hard to when you were from a family of mages and The Chantry taught that magic was a corrupting influence in the world. It was hard to believe magic was evil and dangerous when Father’s soothing, calming healing magic flowed through you after a painful injury, or when you overheard Bethany praying for the Maker to take her magic away and let her be ‘normal’ again. It was easier to believe Father when he criticised the templars and the Chantry for oppressing mages and ripping families apart for the ‘crime’ of having magic in their bloodlines.

It was easier to believe Father’s diatribes over dinner when you saw how your own family was forced into hiding such an essential part of your lives, how Father and Mother always cautioned the need to keep up appearances outside the house, and never to question (openly, anyway) anything the Chantry ever said.

It had only been their life in Kirkwall — finding out he was named for a templar, fighting hate-filled murderous blood mages — that had forced Carver to rethink everything he thought he knew and tipped him towards sympathy for the Order, and the Chantry’s view on apostates, in the first place.

The Kirkwall Chantry sat atop Hightown, as if it crowned the city itself, and it was a long walk from where the Gallows boat docked to the tall flight of steps that graced the entrance of the grandest building in Kirkwall, which gave Carver plenty of time for idle pondering. Giving thanks to the Maker felt appropriate: Alrik was dead, having received his just desserts, and was unable to report that Carver had assaulted him — something Carver expected he would be court-martialled for, or worse. The low sun in the sky cast long shadows as he walked, bathing everything in the rosy orange glow of a pleasant evening in the city as it transitioned to night-time.

Carver pushed open the heavy wooden doors to go inside, and was greeted by relative silence as the doors clanged shut behind him, blocking out the hustle and bustle of Kirkwall. Andraste herself stood, huge and golden and imposing at the end of a corridor of smooth dark grey stones, and Chantry mothers were already starting to light the red candles dotted around the place. Carver walked forward as quietly as he could in his templar armour towards the altar. A few Chantry sisters smiled and nodded at him as he passed; Carver politely returned the favour, and returned his eyes to the tall statue in front of him, before bending down to light a candle himself.

He wasn’t lighting it for anyone, really, and certainly not Alrik. He wasn’t even sure why he was lighting it, but it just felt like the right thing to do. To show his gratitude to the Maker, if nothing else, both for saving his own skin and saving any future mages Alrik would have targeted. Carver’s personal faith had been shaken a few times since he became a templar, but tonight was not one of them.

The Chantry tonight felt comforting, almost like a warm embrace, and once Carver lit his candle he watched it melt the red wax the flame sat in, observing the red pool reflecting the bright steady candlelight for a while, before he felt the need to wander around and soak up the peaceful atmosphere. He noted Ser Varnell, praying rapturously in a corner next to Mother Petrice — the templar had been spending more time in the Chantry than in the Gallows of late, and Carver half-wondered, idly, if Varnell and Petrice were in a clandestine relationship of sorts. He shrugged to himself, and ascended the stairs to one of the Chantry wings, not aiming to go anywhere in particular, just content to amble and appreciate the quiet save for the dim hum of the Chant of Light being sung somewhere else.

It was only when a short scream rent the air that Carver stopped dawdling, and sprinted in the direction it came from. 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill gets lost, and bumps into someone she was hoping to avoid.

Merrill frowned. Trying to find the Hawke Estate without her ball of twine was proving even trickier than usual. She’d managed to get to Hightown — and Creators knew finding her way through the maze of Lowtown’s hexes was difficult enough — but, now she was standing in some large courtyard, she had not a clue where to head next.

If only Hawke’s plants were in a more convenient place for her to water, rather than inside his estate! And she wasn’t even sure she wanted to _visit_ the estate — well, maybe not its inhabitants, anyway; but she hadn’t watered Hawke’s plants for weeks now and they’d probably all died, poor things.

 _Really, Merrill_ , she scolded herself, _you’ve been in Hightown enough that you should recognise at least_ something _by now. Oooh, is that a picture of a giant cheese wheel on that huge noticeboard over there? I’ve never seen that before. Maybe those stairs behind it lead somewhere useful? That sunburst symbol looks sort of familiar_ …

Once she’d got to the top of the stairs — Creators, there were so many stairs! — and gone through the colossal wooden doors that greeted her, Merrill found herself in a place she was sure she didn’t recognise as any part of Hightown. What was that huge golden statue? Why did she look so sad? And did those stairs on either side lead anywhere near the Hawke Estate? Kirkwall had a lot of stairs, after all.

Merrill lost count of how many stairs she climbed or how many corridors she walked, but she noticed when she went through a door that led to a dead-end. She looked around the tiny space surrounding her. There were lots of shelves, and… _Elgar’nan_ , it was warm in here. _Very_ warm in here.

 _I’ve been here before_ , Merrill realised in some dismay, recognising the frilly pale pink underpants hanging up in front of her. _I’ve ended up in the Grand Cleric’s airing cupboard. Again._

 _It could be worse_ , chirped another, more cheerful voice in her head. _You could have ended up in the viscount’s bathing room again! The viscount wouldn’t stop yelling, and Aveline was so cross when she had to come and arrest you. Think positively, Merrill! At least this is just an airing cupboard in the Chantry!_

The door behind her opened, and Merrill wheeled round, jumped and shrieked in surprise as Grand Cleric Elthina screamed.

‘Grand Cleric! I’m so sorry!’ Merrill stammered as Elthina clutched her chest in fright. Merrill stumbled out of the cupboard, pleading with her hands. ‘I got lost, I swear, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…’

The clanking thump of footsteps behind the Grand Cleric were louder now, and as Elthina stepped back, terror and confusion etched on the lines of her face, Merrill’s own heart jumped into her mouth as she saw the templar rushing towards them. _Oh no_.

‘Your Grace! Is everything all right?’ shouted a concerned male voice Merrill knew all too well. The voice that belonged to a certain blue-eyed templar she really didn’t want to see right now.

 _Oh, NO_.

The Grand Cleric seemed to recover her composure with Carver’s arrival, while Merrill instinctively backed into the airing cupboard. ‘Ser Carver,’ Elthina addressed him, gratefully, in well-practised mollifying tones that Merrill might have found soothing in other circumstances. ‘I thank you for coming to my aid. I am perfectly fine. I just had… a shock.’

‘I heard a scream,’ Carver continued, his gaze on Merrill, looking far more stunned than he sounded. ‘I thought I’d investigate.’

‘I found this elf in my airing cupboard,’ Grand Cleric Elthina told him; Merrill scowled briefly at being referred to as ‘this elf’, while the older woman continued. ‘I came to retrieve some laundry I had drying in here, and much to my horror I was faced with a pair of green eyes glowing in the dark. I am sorry you heard me scream, Knight-Corporal; but that was before I realised it was an elf, rather than a cat or even a monster of some sort.’

‘I see,’ Carver frowned. Merrill shuffled from one foot to the other, cheeks burning.

‘I believe this is the same elf one of the Sisters found in here last time,’ Elthina stated, ‘although the Sister was in too much of a state of shock to do anything about it.’

‘I see,’ Carver repeated, still looking at Merrill, and Merrill was sure the airing cupboard had got hotter than when she’d first walked into it. ‘What would you have me do, Your Grace? Perhaps I—perhaps I could escort the young lady home?’

‘That depends,’ the Grand Cleric said, her soothing voice taking on an almost imperceptible edge as she spoke to Merrill. ‘Why were you here, elf? What is it that you seek?’  

‘I got lost,’ Merrill said, trying not to let her irritation show. ‘I got lost last time, and I got lost this time. I’m _so_ sorry, Your Grace! I was only trying to go to the Hawke Estate, and — somehow I ended up in here!’

The Grand Cleric softened at the mention of the Hawke Estate. ‘Child,’ she said, ‘it seems the Maker has smiled upon you today. You may not know this young man, but he is a member of that family, and if you are indeed expected at the Hawke Estate, he will be able to take you there. The Maker has blessed you with the help you need.’

‘ _Ma serannas_ — I mean, thank you, Your Grace,’ answered Merrill, trying not to sound ungrateful as she emerged from the airing cupboard. As far as Merrill was concerned, the fact that Carver was there — the last person she wanted to see right now — was yet more evidence the Maker didn’t exist.

The Grand Cleric smiled beneficently at her. ‘Any friend of the Hawke Estate is a friend of the Chantry,’ she said, and Merrill bristled that the Grand Cleric didn’t speak to Carver in the same condescending tone as she did to her. ‘Ser Carver here is a valued member of our honoured Templar Order; his brother Garrett is the heir of the most noble Amell family, and the Chantry’s most generous donor.’

‘You flatter me, Your Grace,’ Carver said, with an uneasy, slight laugh, and Merrill could see from his face that he was as surprised by that last revelation as she was. ‘I’m… pleased to hear my brother is putting his wealth to good use.’

‘Indeed,’ Grand Cleric Elthina beamed; and despite her chagrin at Carver’s presence, Merrill was amused that he seemed to be suppressing his own annoyance at the Grand Cleric. ‘The Maker always rewards his most faithful, Ser Carver. Please take her to your family’s estate, if that is indeed where she is destined to go; I trust you will deal with her in a suitable manner if she isn’t.’

Carver bowed. ‘At once, Your Grace.’

‘Maker’s gaze be upon you, child,’ Elthina answered serenely as they left. Merrill was glad to see the back of her.

If Merrill had been hoping to shake Carver off in the Chantry or down its steps as they walked, she couldn’t. Carver insisted on walking beside or one step behind her at all times, patiently waiting whenever she stopped to examine something or other about her surroundings.

‘So, Merrill,’ he eventually said, while Merrill made sure her attention was caught by the darkening sky. ‘You were going to see my brother.’

‘I think I can find the way from here, Carver!’ Merrill said brightly, still not looking at him. ‘You don’t need to come with me! _Elgar’nan_ , look at that cloud! It’s stylishly windswept, like your brother’s hair!’

‘Merrill,’ Carver said, not taking the bait for once, ‘if you could find your way from here, you wouldn’t have ended up in the Grand Cleric’s airing cupboard in the first place.’

‘I suppose not,’ Merrill conceded, strolling ahead. ‘Well. Better than that time I ended up in the middle of a dog-racing track in Darktown, I suppose…’

‘Oh. That must have been unpleasant…’

‘…or even that time I ended up in the viscount’s bathing room!’

‘You… how did you end up in the viscount’s bathing room?’

Merrill merely shrugged.

‘Right,’ Carver said, getting the hint. ‘OK, then, Merrill.’

They meandered on, Merrill pausing to coo at the attack dogs in various Hightown gardens or bend down to examine the foliage — ‘Such pretty flowers! Do you think your brother would like it if I brought him some?’ — and each time, Carver paused and made no move to hurry her along (although he stopped her picking any flowers at all) and stubbornly refused to be provoked by anything she was doing to drive him away.

Well, two could play _that_ game, Merrill thought. She could stubbornly refuse to show how much his presence affected her, too. She was already stubbornly refusing to look at him — one more look at him and it would probably be game over, and she was glad it was getting dark. Sometimes he seemed to gravitate towards her, or hold his gauntleted hand out to her, and she would skip nimbly out of reach, or move her hand away from his.

‘Do you remember that time you threaded some daisies through my hair?’ Carver asked, as Merrill stopped to admire some large daisies in a garden they passed. ‘When we went on a picnic outside Kirkwall?’

‘Yes! I gave you a daisy chain crown too!’ Merrill exclaimed at the daisy heads she cradled in her hands. ‘ _These_ are pretty daisies, aren’t they? I _love_ them. The flower heads are so much larger and prettier than the usual ones you get outside of Kirkwall!’

‘Yes,’ Carver said, his voice wistful. ‘They _are_ pretty, Merrill.’

Merrill trilled again about how beautiful the daisies were before moving on; Carver said no more, but Merrill heard him exhale a long, sad sigh.

 _I’m hurting him_ , Merrill winced to herself. _I’m hurting him and I don’t want to hurt him – but I can’t, I mustn’t, fall for him again. He won’t understand why, and it’s best he never understands why_ — _and it’s probably already too late for me, but I must try_.

 _He will never understand about the eluvian. And he must never know how I had to kill Ser Alrik in the end_.

And oh Creators, it hurt her, too. Merrill had avoided going anywhere near the Hanged Man over the past few weeks in case she bumped into him — Isabela had even called at her house, but Merrill had feigned some excuse rather than go to the tavern — and it had meant she felt even more lonely than she already did. She’d even avoided going to water Hawke’s plants until today — she hadn’t even wanted to bump into Hawke or his mother again, just in case either of them reminded her of Carver.

But she _had_ to resist Carver. Falling for _him_ would be even more problematic than actually having a relationship with his brother. Merrill would probably still have had misgivings over Hawke being human, but she thought she’d have been able to get over them easier, given he had the sort of wealthy, increasingly influential position in the city that protected them all and — most pressingly — was not an _actual templar_.

Carver was not like other templars… but restoring the eluvian was still more important than anything in her life, and she’d had to resort to blood magic for it. Blood magic and templars? Not a good combination — _especially_ now, given how she’d had to slaughter of some of his brethren… It was best that he stayed away from her — or that she stayed away from him.

Not that it had made the last three weeks any easier. She’d missed Carver horribly. And once his eight days’ worth of grocery shopping had run out (Merrill had been amazed at how much he must have spent just to ensure she had enough), it was back to getting lost around Lowtown market every day again, just to buy food. Merrill had even tried striking up conversations with random strangers she bumped into in the market, but found she only succeeded in annoying them further, and even the most determined Lowtown socialites crossed the streets to avoid her.

‘Merrill.’ Carver’s voice cut across her thoughts, and made her jump. ‘I—er—I forgot. I, erm, meant to give you this when I saw you…’

‘Oh! A ball of twine!’ cried Merrill with forced cheer, taking the tangled ball from his outstretched gauntlet without looking at him. ‘Thank you, Carver! I lost the old one, but you really didn’t have to buy me a new one…’

‘I… didn’t? I found this one, and I thought it might be yours…’

Merrill examined the ball of twine in her hand. Carver was right: it _was_ hers. Losing it had been the main reason she’d got so hopelessly lost today, and the reason she’d got even more lost than usual over the last three weeks. But if Carver had found her ball of twine, how…?

‘It is mine,’ Merrill confirmed, reluctantly. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘I found it near the bodies of Ser Alrik and his men earlier today.’

Merrill froze. Carver was staring intently at her, she knew that without looking at him; she could feel his eyes boring into her.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's canon that Merrill gets lost a lot, and it's canon that she even ends up in the Grand Cleric's airing cupboard at least once (although if you take Merrill and Aveline with you in the "Mark of the Assassin" DLC, she states that she ends up in airing cupboards "a lot"), so I had to include it somewhere in this fic :-D 
> 
> As you've probably guessed by now, this chapter is pretty much where the scene in the front cover (below) comes from: 
> 
> After I've finished posting this fic to Archive of Our Own, I will post an e-book version (with this front cover) on my [Tumblr blog](http://hollyand-writes.tumblr.com) for anyone who wants to download a free e-book version. Which will probably be around mid-December 2016.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver and Merrill find themselves rudely interrupted (content warning for battle-related gore), and Isabela finds Varric isn't giving up so easily...

_He knows_ , was Merrill’s first panicked thought. _He knows I was there_.

‘Thank you, Carver,’ Merrill repeated, turning the ball of twine over in her hands, ‘I—I didn’t know that was where I—dropped it. _Ma serannas_. Again.’

‘No problem,’ the templar replied, and Merrill tucked the ball of twine away in her pouch. ‘I did wonder how it got there, though.’

Merrill raised her eyes to the flaming sword insignia on Carver’s chestplate. ‘I can’t imagine how.’

‘No,’ he said, a tinge of sarcasm creeping into his voice. ‘I can’t imagine why your ball of twine was found near Ser Alrik’s dead body. Or near the corpses of his men.’

Merrill scowled at his chest. ‘How inconvenient for the Order,’ she returned, ‘to lose so many men at once!’

Carver sighed with the air of a man who realised he wasn’t going to get her to confess to anything. ‘Merrill, we need to talk.’

‘No, we don’t.’

‘Yes, we do. Not out here, obviously, but… we need to talk.’

‘Why?’ she asked coldly, as she started to walk away. ‘Are you going to _arrest_ me, Carver?’

‘You know I’m not. And my brother’s house is that way, by the way.’

‘Well?’ she demanded, changing direction to where Carver was pointing. ‘What, then?’

He didn’t answer immediately. ‘Why are you ignoring me, Merrill?’

‘I’m not ignoring you, Carver! You’re right here! How can I ignore you?’

‘I meant over the last three weeks. You never got in touch, and… I didn’t see you down the Hanged Man…’

‘Get the elf!’ a rough male voice suddenly shouted. ‘She’s on ’er own — grab ’er stuff!’

‘We’re under attack!’ Merrill realised, unslinging her staff as a gang of armed men came at them. ‘Here, in Hightown!’

Carver didn’t need telling twice. He unslung his sword and ran forward, and some of the men seemed to stop in their tracks in surprise; evidently some of them hadn’t seen that Merrill wasn’t unaccompanied, and hadn’t realised the templar was nearby.

‘ _Na melana sahlin!_ ’ Merrill shouted at them; Carver roared and sliced through the first two that reached them. Merrill banged her staff on the ground before raising it and aiming at one of the men running to Carver, channelling her power through it. A green burst of magic shot out of the end and hit the man square in the chest; he staggered, and Carver snarled and lopped his head off. Merrill grimaced; no matter how many years she’d fought alongside Hawke and his companions, seeing a warrior cleave through a man’s neck was never pleasant.

Not that watching Carver do his swording wasn’t pleasant, though… and he’d got even better at it since she’d last fought alongside him…

_Concentrate, Merrill! Stop watching Carver! You don’t want to get yourself killed!_

‘May the Creators have mercy on you!’ Merrill taunted the men surrounding her, as she froze them all in their tracks with a Cone of Cold, ‘I certainly won’t!’

‘I’m coming! Hang on!’ Carver yelled, running towards her as several archers jumped off the roof and surrounded Merrill, while another warrior charged in. ‘Stay out of reach — that one’s big!’

Merrill obeyed, using her Stone’s Throw spell to move herself through the earth closer to him and out of harm’s way; and out of the corner of her eye she couldn’t help noticing Carver’s look of admiration before she fired another spell at her nearest enemy and Carver cut him down.

Together they fought in unison, Merrill’s spell-casting alternating with Carver’s sword attacks. At one point Merrill used her Ensnare spell to loop tendrils of raw nature magic from her body round their enemies to strike and draw them closer to her, before scooting out of the way and leaving them writhing on the spot, paralysed and bound by magical vines. Carver paused, impressed, before frowning in concentration and scything through the attackers Merrill had trapped, finishing them off.

Merrill let Carver deal with the last few stragglers; it wasn’t that she was tired or that she didn’t have the ability to dispatch of them herself, she just really wanted to stand back and watch Carver at work. When he leapt in the air and crashed down onto the last of them with a shattering blow, Merrill felt her heart flutter and her groin throb.

 _He’s so brave and strong. Just like Hawke… although I suppose he is a Hawke. He’s so utterly fearless, and_ …

‘That was all me! Right there!’ Carver crowed as the last man fell. ‘That’s how we did it back in Ferelden!’

‘I think it’s over,’ Merrill piped up. ‘Do you think it’s over?’

‘I think that’s all of them,’ Carver said, sheathing his bloodied greatsword and walking back over to her. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked gently; the battle they’d just fought together had slightly thawed the icy atmosphere between them.

‘I’m fine,’ Merrill said. Despite all her warnings to herself, Merrill finally looked up at him; Carver was gazing longingly at her, though at least the intensity was somewhat muted by the fact that he was splattered with blood.

‘Are you hurt, Carver?’ she asked, suddenly feeling afraid.

‘No. I’m… I’m fine.’

She rewarded him with a grateful smile. ‘Thank you. You saved my life.’

‘I think you’d have been fine without me, Merrill. But thanks.’

‘But you defended me anyway,’ she said. ‘And you didn’t have to.’

‘Of course I’ll defend you,’ Carver told her, voice soft. He reached out as if to stroke her face, then thought better of it and dropped his arm. He inhaled and exhaled deeply. ‘It smells… really nice tonight.’

‘Much better than the alienage,’ Merrill concurred, grateful to seize on a less emotional topic, until she saw Carver blush. She frowned. ‘Did I miss another dirty thing, Carver?’

‘No,’ he muttered, although Merrill didn’t believe him. ‘It’s just… nothing. Shall I walk you to my brother’s? It’s not far.’

They set off, and Merrill couldn’t help feeling the silence was almost as awkward as before the fight with the gang, when she’d actually deliberately been trying to make it awkward in an attempt to drive him away.

‘I was only going to water his plants,’ Merrill explained, as they walked. ‘I suppose it’s a little late for that now.’

‘Oh,’ Carver said, somewhat sourly. ‘Right.’

‘Perhaps I should still do it,’ Merrill mused. ‘At least it’ll be more fun than being patronised by the Grand Cleric.’

‘Yeah, I noticed that. I’m sorry she behaved like that towards you.’

‘Don’t be! It wasn’t your fault! Why should you be sorry because of her?’

‘I just think you deserve to be treated better,’ Carver said after a pause. ‘That’s all.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill uttered softly. She could feel her heart fluttering again.

‘Wait,’ Carver suddenly said, stopping in his tracks and narrowing his eyes. ‘Is that… Anders? With my brother? Going into the estate?’

Merrill’s eyes travelled to where he was looking at, and sure enough, Anders and Hawke were strolling up to the door of the Hawke Estate, hand in hand, eyes gazing lovingly into each other’s; something that might have caused her at least a tinge of jealousy if she’d seen Anders doing that with Hawke a few months ago.

‘I still can’t believe you’re with me,’ she thought she heard Anders say as they walked; she didn’t catch what Hawke said in response, but Anders laughed; and even in this low light Merrill could see that Anders was radiant, basking in the glow of Hawke’s love, the love he’d always had but never accepted until now.

Merrill braced herself, waiting for some sort of hurt to come; she was surprised to found she felt nothing. Nothing at all.

 _I don’t love Hawke_ , Merrill realised. _All this time I thought maybe I did, or could, but I don’t. Instead, I_ …

‘I should head back to the Gallows,’ Carver suddenly said. ‘You’ll be OK from here, right?’

‘Will you be OK?’ Merrill asked him. ‘You’re covered in blood, Carver, are you sure none of it’s your own? Won’t you need a bath?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll splash the worst of it off, and get a bath back at the Gallows. I just… needed to know you were safe.’

‘I’m perfectly safe, Carver. I know Varric likes to call me “Daisy”, but I’m not _actually_ a daisy, you know.’

‘No,’ he said, a sad smile forming on his face. ‘A “delicate little mage-flower” is the last thing you are.’

Something in the way he said it tugged at Merrill, and she put her arms round herself to resist throwing her arms around him. ‘Well. I appreciated your protection tonight anyway, Carver.’

‘And you’ll always have it.’ He sighed. ‘Even if you don’t want it.’

 _I’ll always want it_ , she thought. _I’ll always want you. I know that now. I tried keeping away from you for three weeks, tried to focus on everything but you, and I failed._

 _I just… don’t know how to deal with what I feel about you. And I don’t know how much you know about me killing Ser Alrik, but you won’t want me around when you_ do _know, and I just_ can’t _be cast aside again_.

‘ _Dareth shiral_ , Carver,’ Merrill said quietly, and turned and walked towards the Hawke Estate.

***

‘Well, look who’s just come into the tavern.’ Varric nodded towards the door, and Isabela turned round in surprise to see Merrill scurrying over, ignoring the raised eyebrows of some of the Hanged Man’s patrons she accidentally brushed past in her hurry to get to their table.

‘Isabela! Oh, thank the Creators you’re here!’ Merrill flopped down into the spare seat at their table, looking agitated. ‘ _Aneth ara_ , Varric,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘It’s good to see you both.’

‘Hello, Daisy,’ Varric greeted her, spreading his arms in welcome. ‘Good to see you too. Rivaini and I were just playing Diamondback — want me to deal you in?’

‘Everything alright, Kitten?’ Isabela asked, as Merrill shook her head and started fidgeting with her fingers.

‘Oh, Isabela,’ Merrill said, her usually singsong voice sounding distressed, ‘I’ve been such a mess these last few days. I don’t know what to do.’

‘What’s this about? Shall I get you a drink?’

‘Yes. No. Maybe? I don’t know.’

‘I’ll get you a drink then, Daisy,’ Varric reassured her, his tone so friendly that Merrill couldn’t help smiling at him. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he said, standing up and shuffling to the bar. As soon as he was out of earshot, Merrill spoke again.

‘I’ve messed up. I’ve messed ev-ery-thing up, Isabela, and I don’t know what to do…’

‘Kitten,’ Isabela said, putting her arm around her, ‘I’m sure you haven’t messed up.’

‘I have,’ Merrill said, handing her a folded parchment and twisting her hands around each other anxiously. ‘Carver wrote me this letter.’

Isabela unfolded it. The templar’s scrawl was surprisingly messy.

 

_Dear Merrill,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I’m glad I got you to my brother’s house safely, and that I got to return your ball of twine to you. ~~It was good to see you~~ I hope it means you won’t get so lost. _

_We didn’t really get a chance to talk before we got attacked in Hightown. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for anything I might have done to upset you, or which might have caused you to avoid me these last few weeks. I really ~~care about~~ am sorry. _

_~~You are the~~ _

_~~I know about Ser Alr~~ _

_~~I’d love to~~ _

_It would be good if we could talk. ~~I need to know what I’ve done wrong~~ I would be very sad to never hear from you again, but if you don’t ever want to talk to me, I’ll respect your decision and leave you alone. _

_Yours,_

_Carver ~~~~_

 

Isabela handed the letter back to Merrill while the elf explained to her what had happened. Inwardly, she cursed that she’d ever got involved with Carver and Merrill’s love lives in the first place. Isabela had thought it would have been an easy, fun, idle distraction for her while she tried to find her relic; but the continued flailing of both the templar and blood mage around each other proved how mistaken she’d been — it hadn’t been easy, fun _or_ idle, but just constant bloody frustration.

Not to mention it might still cost her an awful lot of gold.

‘So let me get this straight,’ Isabela said, as patiently as she could, as Varric came back to the table with a glass of weak ale for Merrill. ‘You’ve been deliberately avoiding Carver for the past three or four weeks, and now he’s found out you helped kill Ser Alrik and his men.’

‘Yes,’ Merrill said. She fidgeted. ‘I don’t know how much he knows though. Perhaps I should have asked him, but we didn’t really want to say too much in public, just in case.’

‘So talk to him,’ Isabela shrugged, as Varric raised an eyebrow. ‘Invite him over, and explain.’

Merrill’s eyes widened. ‘I can’t do that! He’ll hate me!’

‘Kitten, I don’t think Carver will hate you. It sounds to me like he might have wanted Alrik dead anyway. Or removed, somehow. What are you so worried about?’

Merrill took a gulp of her ale. ‘Ser Alrik isn’t the only reason I didn’t want to see Carver,’ she began.

‘Well, it seems like Carver was the reason you’ve been avoiding the Hanged Man,’ Isabela said, the pieces falling into place now. ‘What’s the other reason you’ve been avoiding him?’

Merrill didn’t answer.

‘ _Merrill_ ,’ Isabela sighed, affectionately. ‘Oh, blood mages can be so dramatic. You like him, don’t you?’

Merrill covered her face and cringed.

‘Ancestor’s tits,’ Varric exclaimed. ‘You _do_ , don’t you, Daisy?’

‘Oh, Isabela,’ Merrill cried, removing her hands from her face. ‘I don’t know what to do! I don’t know how to handle this! I thought staying away from him would mean I didn’t have to think about it, but it made everything worse, _I’ve_ made everything worse, and I feel so stupid.’

‘Merrill, you’re not stupid for having feelings for someone,’ Isabela said. ‘Caring for someone never makes you stupid.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Merrill agreed, seeming reassured by Isabela’s words.

‘And he clearly cares for you, Kitten,’ Isabela went on, ignoring Varric’s face.

‘Well, of course he does! We _are_ friends, after all,’ Merrill said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Isabela forced herself to keep the incredulity off her face. ‘But he won’t once he finds out what stupid, petty reasons kept me away!’

‘Kitten. I’m sure Carver will understand. I’m sure he understands better than anyone.’

Merrill paused, and took a sip of her drink. Isabela shot Varric a triumphant look, but Varric merely smirked and shook his head.

‘Daisy,’ Varric began, ‘I thought you thought Carver had feelings for Isabela? Surely it’s hard to get together with a man who has feelings for someone else?’

‘He doesn’t!’ Isabela fired back, her jubilant expression turning into a frown. ‘I don’t know where you got that idea, but it’s simply not true. Kitten, I think you should go for it.’

But Merrill, unaware of the undertones of Isabela and Varric’s bickering, ignored them both, looking thoughtful.

‘If only he could be an elf,’ she sighed, ‘or… _not_ a templar, though.’

‘Would it matter that Carver’s not an elf if you like him?’ Isabela asked, voice gentle. ‘Would it matter that he’s not an elf if he treats you well?’

Merrill clasped her hands in front of her chin as she thought. ‘Well… I suppose the elves in my clan haven’t treated me that well recently… and the alienage elves haven’t been the friendliest…’

‘Is the elf thing really that important to you?’ Isabela asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Merrill replied. ‘I always thought it was, especially with what I was taught among the Dalish, but no matter how much I scold myself, it doesn’t seem to change the way I feel.’

‘Then, maybe… it doesn’t matter?’ Isabela suggested.

‘Hmph. I’d say it’s not that simple,’ Varric commented.

‘After we fought that gang in Hightown,’ Merrill pondered aloud, ‘I couldn’t help thinking: Why _are_ you resisting this man again, Merrill? He just fought for you. He protected you. You used your magic alongside him, he knows you were involved in killing templars and he won’t arrest you over it. He’s handsome, he’s kind, he’s brave and loyal…’

‘The templar thing still matters, though,’ Varric pointed out. ‘Especially as you’re, y’know, a mage.’

Isabela glared at him.  _Spoilsport_ , she mouthed.

‘But he’s not really like the other templars,’ Merrill pondered slowly, more to herself than anyone. ‘I _know_ why he joined the Order. And he doesn’t _hate_ mages. His twin sister was a mage, and he misses her awfully… and he loves his brother, though he’d never admit it.’

‘He won’t turn Hawke in to the Gallows,’ Isabela agreed.

‘He wouldn’t dare,’ Varric smirked.

Isabela shot Varric another look, before adding: ‘I’m pretty sure he won’t turn  _you_  in, Kitten.’

‘No, I’m pos-it-ive he won’t,’ Merrill agreed. ‘But… I just don’t know if falling for a templar is a good idea as an apostate.’

‘It isn’t,’ Varric said bluntly.

‘It’s for you to decide, Kitten,’ Isabela said, glaring at Varric once again, ‘and you can’t help what you feel, whether it’s a good idea or not. But all this is a moot point. After what happened earlier, you need to talk to him. He’s clearly wondering what he’s done wrong.’

Merrill sighed again. ‘I owe him an apology,’ she said. ‘Unless he doesn’t want to talk to me again.’

‘I’ll make sure he does,’ Isabela decided. ‘I’ll tell him myself.’

Merrill gave her a watery smile and a hug. ‘Thank you, Isabela. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

As Merrill got up to order a round of drinks from Corff at the bar, Isabela wheeled on Varric. ‘What were you doing tonight?’ she hissed. ‘Trying to undo all my hard work, trying to discourage her from Carver — don’t you want Kitten to be happy?’

‘Sure I do,’ Varric said. ‘Of course I want Daisy to be happy, whether that’s with Junior or anyone else. But — _you_ understand my dilemma, Rivaini. I don’t want to lose my bet.’


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver visits Merrill to talk things out, and neither of them can hold back anymore...

The next few days blended into each other, as far as Carver was concerned. Sword and exercise drills, Chantry sermons, supervising mages. Carver threw all of himself into it. It helped him not think about anything else.

The one highlight was that Leandra came to visit him in the Gallows; fortunately his mother had no idea what Garrett or his friends were up to most of the time, and after their argument last month she never mentioned Merrill again — something Carver was grateful for.

Carver listened politely as Leandra updated him on the latest Hightown neighbour gossip, something he had no interest in; he made appropriate noises about Uncle Gamlen, and expressed appropriate surprise about the news that Anders had moved into the estate. His mother seemed to notice her younger son was out of sorts, but Carver insisted he was just tired and stressed from templar duties this week. Leandra wasn’t convinced, but she let it drop.

Shortly after Leandra left, however, Carver was startled by a whistle from the rooftops. He looked up, and sure enough, Isabela was sitting on one of the rafters.

‘I’ve been looking all over for you,’ she said as she jumped down, landing as silently and gracefully as a cat. ‘Merrill wants to talk to you.’

The mention of her name made Carver’s heart jump into his throat. ‘Why?’ he asked suspiciously.

Isabela shrugged. ‘She wants to apologise.’

‘And tell me to get lost for good, probably.’

Isabela rolled her eyes. ‘Do you always have to be so negative? Tonight at her house. I’ve swopped your shift on the rota, so you’re free for the night.’

‘Wait — Isabela!’ Carver called, but the pirate had already jumped up to the window and scrambled out of it, vanishing almost instantly in a puff of smoke.

***

Carver approached Merrill’s door that evening with his emotions swinging wildly between excitement and trepidation. The moment he raised his hand to knock, the door flew open and Merrill stood there, wide-eyed and breathless.

‘Oh, thank goodness you’re here! I was worried you wouldn’t come. Isabela gave me a bottle of wine, but I drank half of it, and… anyway. I’m babbling. Do come in, Carver.’

‘Are you OK?’ Carver couldn’t help asking her as he stepped over the threshold and followed her inside. He suddenly wished he’d been able to have a few drinks for courage himself. ‘I brought you some food, in case you needed it, or maybe you can give it to the neighbours or something if you don’t…’

‘Oh, you’re always so kind to me,’ Merrill said, turning to smile at him, slightly pink-cheeked with the wine she’d drunk, ‘and — oh, I should have said thank you, shouldn’t I, and I didn’t, and… shut up, Merrill…’

Despite himself, Carver couldn’t help chuckling. ‘Hey, it’s fine, Merrill. Don’t worry about it.’

He felt her eyes on him as he packed the groceries he’d brought away, hoping she didn’t notice the slight trembling of his hands. Merrill said nothing, just continued to watch him with her big, green eyes, fidgeting until Carver closed the final cupboard door.

‘ _Ma serannas_ , Carver. Thank you.’

He shrugged. ‘Just wanted to help. That’s all.’

She looked him up and down, and he blushed. ‘You’re not wearing your armour.’

‘Um, no.’ He looked down to where she was staring at his chest, wondering if there was a stain or something on his sleeveless jerkin. There wasn’t. ‘Erm… well. I’m not wearing the _templar_ armour, I guess.’

‘That’s what I meant,’ Merrill said, and Carver cringed at how awkward and stilted their conversation was. ‘Anyway. Shall I—pour out some wine for you.’

‘I’d like that.’

Merrill poured out a glass for him, and picked up her own full glass to sip on. ‘I ne-ver got used to the taste of this stuff,’ she said, staring into her wine. ‘I really want to like it, but it’s always too strong for me.’

‘I suppose it’s an acquired taste,’ Carver said, gulping his own down to settle his nerves. He recognised the vintage as being one of the pricier ones from the Blooming Rose’s well-stocked cellar, and he frowned. ‘This is… this isn’t cheap wine, though. Quite expensive wine, actually. Isabela gave it to you, you say?’

‘Yes. She stole it from somewhere, I think. Or maybe Fenris gave it to her? I don’t know. She said I might need it tonight…’

‘Oh. Well. That’s—good of her to give it to you, I guess.’

‘Yes, it was. Until I drank half—well, almost half—of it…’

‘I thought you said you didn’t like it?’

Merrill didn’t answer. Carver promptly drained his glass, and Merrill topped him up.

‘So,’ Carver started again, after a period of silence. ‘Isabela told me you wanted to talk to me…?’

Merrill fidgeted. ‘Yes. I wanted to—I wanted to apologise for ignoring you since we last spoke. I—I thought it would make things easier, but it didn’t, and I’m so sorry…’

‘Hey. It’s OK.’

Merrill hunched over and fidgeted some more. ‘What are they saying about Ser Alrik’s death in the Gallows, Carver?’

Carver told her what Cullen had told him, and how the templars had not found any further clues as to who killed Ser Alrik and his men, or what the ‘demon of unknown origin’ was.

‘Is that all, Carver?’

Carver put his glass down. ‘I _know_ you were there, Merrill. I’m not telling the templars that, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘Good.’ She relaxed a little. ‘Thank you, Carver.’

‘I also know,’ Carver continued, ‘or worked out, anyway, that Varric was there. And Anders. And possibly even my brother.’

‘And the templars don’t suspect anything?’

‘No.’ Carver gulped his wine again. ‘And I’m not telling them, either. Although I’m not happy that my brother got dragged into this.’

Merrill shrugged. ‘That wasn’t my doing. Anders told Hawke, and Hawke insisted on going.’ She sighed. ‘I walked into Varric’s suite at the Hanged Man when Hawke was telling him about it. I demanded that I go with them. They tried to leave me behind.’ She looked up at him then, her green eyes determined, stubborn. ‘I don’t regret going, Carver. Even if you won’t approve.’

‘Why would I disapprove? I’m hardly sorry you killed him.’

‘We had to. He was threatening Ella when we finally found him.’

Carver felt his blood run cold. ‘No. No. Tell me he didn’t—’

‘Oh, he didn’t,’ Merrill said, more brightly now. ‘We made sure of that when we barged in on him. Well, Anders lost control of himself and Justice came out… but anyway, Hawke talked him down, and once we’d killed them all, we told Ella to find her parents again and leave Kirkwall. She’d sneaked out to see her parents, and Alrik caught her.’

Carver released a breath he was unaware he’d been holding in. ‘So… so Ella’s safe, then.’

‘Yes.’ She glanced at Carver briefly, before looking away. ‘Not in the Circle, though, but she was safe the last time we saw her. I don’t know where she’s gone now though.’

‘But at least she’s with her family,’ Carver said, relief washing over him. ‘Merrill. I can’t thank you enough.’

Merrill inclined her head in a slight nod. Carver drank from his glass again, closing his eyes as the golden liquid slipped down his throat, warming his stomach, relaxing his mind.

‘So… so you’re not angry with me, then?’

‘What, for killing Ser Alrik and saving Ella? No, not at all. Well, I’m not happy that Anders got my brother involved after I told him not to, but… that’s not your fault.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Merrill agreed. ‘Although Anders—’ She looked as if she was about to tell Carver something else, but thought better of it. ‘Well. The short story you need to know is that Anders and your brother got together afterwards.’

Carver groaned. ‘I know. Mother told me when I saw her today. He’s even bloody moved in.’

Merrill studied him curiously. ‘You don’t approve?’

‘No. Garrett can do better for himself than that—that blighted abomination. I was hoping there was something between him and Fenris, but I… suppose not.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Merrill disagreed. ‘Anders seems to make your brother very happy. After you left, I went into the estate to water Hawke’s plants, and I haven’t seen Hawke or Anders smile so much in years. Well, I’ve seen Hawke smile many times, but I think this might have been the first time his smiles actually seemed real.’

Carver sighed, resigned. ‘Well,’ he grumbled. ‘As long as he makes my brother happy, I’ll try and accept it. The moment he breaks his heart—’

‘Carver,’ Merrill interrupted him, gazing warily at his now-clenched fists. ‘There’s something else I need to tell you, and you’re not going to like it.’

Carver felt his nerves unravel again, even as he consciously relaxed his hands. She’d just done the most brave and amazing thing for him, something that he was so fervently grateful to her for, and she’d even helped rescue Ella — what could she possibly tell him that he wouldn’t like? His brain immediately raced with some of the worst scenarios he could come up with.

‘What,’ he asked, attempting to joke, ‘you had sex with my brother and Anders on the night I took you to the Estate, or something?’

‘ _Mythal_ , no!’ Merrill’s eyes widened in shock, and Carver mentally slapped himself. ‘Of course not! _Elgar’nan_ , Carver—’

‘Shit. I’m sorry, Merrill, it was a joke, I didn’t mean—’

‘Oh,’ she said, her outburst subsiding. ‘I didn’t get it.’

‘It wasn’t a very good one,’ Carver admitted. _I should stop trying to tell jokes. My brother was always much better at it than I was_. ‘There was nothing to get, really. I suppose I just… Never mind. What were you going to tell me?’

‘It was about Ser Alrik.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Carver drunk the rest of his glass. ‘He didn’t—he didn’t _hurt_ you, did he?’

‘Not like the Circle mages you told me about, obviously. But—the fight didn’t go so well, battling templars with three mages and Varric as an archer, and Ser Alrik was so much tougher than the others—’

Carver couldn’t help himself; he reached over and took Merrill’s hand in his. Merrill halted speaking; she obviously hadn’t expected his move.

‘Ihadtousebloodmagic,’ she blurted out in a rush. ‘I’m so sorry, Carver, you’re going to hate me, but Anders and Hawke were spending more time healing than fighting, and I was about to fall and I was bleeding, there was so much blood and they couldn’t heal me or Varric fast enough—’

‘You used blood magic to fight Ser Alrik?’

Merrill got to her feet and ran out of the room, into her bedroom, and Carver followed.

‘Merrill! Hey, wait—!’

‘I told her you’d judge me!’ Merrill shouted, facing away from him with her hands over her face. ‘I _told_ Isabela you’d hate me, but she said I had to tell you, and—’

‘Of course I don’t hate you.’

Merrill spun round. Carver approached her cautiously, and she stared at him, wild-eyed and breathless and beautiful, and Carver knew now that the only way he could hold back from her any more was if she pushed him away.

‘I would have died,’ she said, softly. ‘I didn’t even have enough mana left to cast… I was backed against a boulder and badly hurt and bleeding so much; I even thought I felt a little bit faint. And he was standing over me and raising his sword… I’m so sorry, Carver.’

‘Don’t be. He deserved it. I only hope you made the bastard suffer before you killed him.’

‘I did.’ She looked down, slowly wringing her hands. ‘I hardly ever use blood magic — it weakens a mage’s connection to the Fade if you use it too often, so I only use it when I have to — but I… I put all the rest of the life-force I had left into it.’

Carver’s breathing momentarily stopped at the thought of how close he’d come to losing her. ‘You did what you had to do, Merrill. He’d have killed you otherwise.’

‘Oh.’ Surprise flitted across Merrill’s face, then… pleasure?… before she evened out her expression again. ‘I’m glad you understand.’ She sighed and raised her gaze to his chest, the tension visibly draining out of her body. ‘I’ve—I’ve _ne-ver_ used blood magic on anyone, and I’ve _ne-ver_ used or controlled someone else’s blood, and I don’t ever want to do that again. Putting the Wounds of the Past spell into practice on Ser Alrik…’ Merrill shuddered. ‘I’ve never seen someone haemorrhage so much, or scream so horribly.’

‘Good,’ Carver said.

‘I didn’t have to use blood magic to fight again,’ Merrill continued. ‘Hawke was able to toss a health potion my way once Ser Alrik hit the ground, and the rest of the battle got much easier after that.’ She shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘Maybe I should do battle with a pack of pretty flowers or soft bunnies next time? I’d do much better.’

‘How badly were you hurt?’ Carver asked, taking a step forward and reaching his hands out to her in concern; Merrill took his large hands in hers and smiled down at them, the pointed tips of her ears going red and her cheeks going pinker under her delicate _vallaslin_ and Carver wanted to trace them with his fingertips, marvelling at how it suited her pretty face, even while he paled at the thought of what Ser Alrik nearly did to the lovely elf in front of him.

‘I’m fine now. Anders healed me up quite well once we trudged into his clinic — he was going to run away, but Hawke stopped him, and — well, I believe they got together after that…’ She squeezed his hands. ‘Anyway. It was a month ago now. I’m fine. Thank you for asking.’

His heart pounding all the way, Carver gently pulled Merrill towards him and slid his arms around her. Merrill let out an almost inaudible gasp of surprise, before exhaling and slipping her own thin arms around him, nestling her head into his shoulder while Carver buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her intoxicating scent.

Her body on his, her scent in his nostrils… it made his head swim more than the wine ever did, like a tide that washed away all rational thought or protest.

‘I can’t believe I came so close to losing you,’ he murmured sincerely, holding her tight.

‘I am so sorry for keeping away from you afterwards,’ Merrill mumbled into his chest. ‘I thought you’d never forgive me if you knew. I thought you’d _hate_ me.’

‘I couldn’t hate you, Merrill,’ he told her, as she looked up at him, astonished, and his heart raced harder and the last of his reticence ebbed away. ‘I couldn’t hate you even if I tried.’

 _Well,_ that’s _an understatement_ , he chuckled in his head mirthlessly. _But it’s the truth. I’m crazy about you. I always have been_.

 _And… I think I always will be_.

‘Maker help me,’ he muttered, staring reverently into her big green eyes, wanting to fall in and get lost in them forever. ‘I can’t hold back any more.’

Merrill was gazing up at him with bated breath and her mouth slightly parted, hands eagerly travelling up his sides and chest, breasts softly pressing into his body.

‘Don’t,’ was her whispered plea.

Carver took a deep breath, and sealed his lips against hers.   
  



	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then they made love. Content warning for NSFW smut / explicit sexual content.

Carver kissed passionately, earnestly, like a man who had been waiting all his life to kiss her. He drank her in as if he couldn’t get enough of her, tenderly tasting everything of her he could, and Merrill melted at his touch.

The first kiss had been soft, shy, a brief press of his lips to hers, as if he was testing the waters; when she slid her arms round his neck and kissed him back, breathing in the heady scent of him, sighing in relief, it was as if she’d unleashed something inside them both. His kisses became harder, more urgent; his mouth was warm and soft and sent a current running through her body, down to her groin; his blue eyes burned with a heat that Merrill realised she’d seen before when he’d looked at her, but hadn’t recognised it for what it was.

‘Oh,’ she exclaimed faintly, as one of Carver’s hands came up to cradle the back of her head, while the other held her tightly to him; his lips were on hers again and he parted her mouth with his, eyelids fluttering shut. Merrill closed her eyes and tilted her head with his, feeling the satisfied sounds he made on her lips; another small noise of surprise escaped her when his tongue met hers, but she allowed him in further, entwining her tongue with his, claiming him as much as he claimed her.

He tasted partly of the wine they’d drank, but also of something else Merrill couldn’t identify, something wonderfully intoxicating and instantly addictive, like the way he smelled. It was hard to breathe; but when she could, all she could do was breathe him in and it spurred her on to open up wider, taste more of him, indulging an unquenchable thirst and fire that consumed them both.

‘Mmmm,’ he said; he planted a few more wet, hard kisses on her lips before he spoke again. ‘That was amazing,’ he panted, as breathless as she was; Merrill felt her knees give way and was thankful he was holding her so tightly to him. He pressed her forehead against hers, his nose brushing against hers, and this close Merrill could see he was as hungry for her as she was for him, and a thrill ran up her spine. ‘You’re so beautiful, Merrill, I want…’

‘I want, too,’ she said, unwrapping herself from around his body and taking his hand; she walked backwards a few steps to her bed, Carver following her all the way, and as she lay down Carver settled on top of her to kiss her again. Merrill parted her legs so he could position himself in between them; as their lips met again, Carver, supporting his weight on his elbows either side of her, lowered his lower body onto hers, and Merrill gasped as something hard brushed against her clit, even through her clothes.

Her eyes met his, and the lust there was unmistakeable. _He wants me_ , Merrill told herself. It was a new feeling, to be desired like this, and it made her flush with shyness and excitement and arousal, and she suddenly felt so timid yet greedy and unsure which impulse to act on first.

The bulge in his trousers bumped against her again, and Merrill gasped again. He was teasing her, she realised as he did it a third time, as Carver chuckled and planted a wet kiss on her lips. Merrill moaned and pulled him down again for another kiss, her heart hammering in her chest as she drank him in again, until Carver broke off the kiss and sat up. Merrill propped herself up and watched him as he undid and pulled off his sleeveless jerkin, gulping as his muscular body revealed itself at last.

‘Can I—can I touch?’ she squeaked.

‘Of course,’ he mumbled, pulling her into his lap, kissing her again; Merrill sighed and ran her tremulous hands all over the planes of his chest and stomach at last, marvelling at how the muscles felt under her palms, enjoying how little goose-bumps sometimes appeared as she trailed her fingertips over his skin.

‘ _Elgar’nan_ , Carver,’ she breathed, staring at his well-developed pectorals in admiration. Her thin hands were so pale against his human colouring. ‘You are _beau-ti-ful_.’

He kissed her forehead so tenderly that Merrill couldn’t help closing her eyes briefly in pleasure. ‘Not as beautiful as you are.’

‘Oh,’ she said, flustered, looking down at the raft of muscles on his abdomen, ‘you’re too kind…’

‘It’s not. It’s the truth.’ He tipped her head up to look at him, and Merrill’s breath hitched. ‘I really do think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’

‘I’m sure you’ve told many of your lovers that,’ Merrill tried to tease him, stroking a hand through his dark hair.

‘I haven’t, actually.’ Carver hesitated, and flushed. ‘If you really must know, there hasn’t… there hasn’t been anyone since I joined the Order.’

‘Oh.’ Merrill’s eyes trailed ravenously down his body. ‘I can’t think why not.’

‘ _I_ can,’ Carver said, caressing her face in his hands, before dropping a light peck on her lips again.

‘Oh,’ Merrill said again. _He’s kissing me a lot tonight. Not that I’m complaining, I just… didn’t expect something like that from him? He never seemed like a man who’d be so affectionate. I really like it_. She smoothed her hands adoringly over his torso again. ‘Were there really no templars in the Gallows that took your fancy?’

Carver barked a laugh. ‘No, Merrill. Definitely not.’

‘And there’s always the Blooming Rose, I suppose…’

Carver tensed momentarily. ‘I thought you didn’t—You don’t like the Blooming Rose.’

Merrill eased herself off his lap. ‘That never stopped you in the past,’ she remarked, removing her scarf; it had got quite warm in here since Carver removed his top, and she’d been itching to take it off since.

Carver stood up. ‘It did once I realised you didn’t like it.’

Taken aback, Merrill wheeled round to face him. Carver was looking embarrassed, as if he hadn’t meant to blurt that out; he turned his head away from her, and Merrill’s heart ached at how vulnerable he looked.

Before she knew it, she’d flung her arms around him and was peppering his face with kisses; Carver wavered, uncertain at first, before gathering her in his arms and returning her kisses as enthusiastically as she gave them. They punctuated their movements with increasingly more heated, desperate kisses as Merrill fumbled with the front of his trousers and Carver did the same with the buttons on her tunic. Carver kissed her, hard, fierce, before backing away to take off his trousers and boots while Merrill frenziedly removed her own clothes and flung them away.

‘Oh,’ Merrill said, as Carver smirked and walked towards her, his erection pointing proudly at her. _Creators. How will it fit? He’s much bigger than I thought. And look at all that hair around it! I’ve never seen that before_.

Carver’s gaze roved appreciatively over her naked body, and Merrill couldn’t help feeling exposed and self-conscious. ‘Maker. You really _are_ beautiful, Merrill.’

‘No one’s ever told me that before,’ Merrill admitted, feeling a pleasant warmth bloom inside at his fervent praise. She took in the rest of him, thick cock above thick muscular thighs and heftily defined calves, aware she was ogling, mentally returning the compliment.

‘Then they’re daft,’ he insisted, taking her hands in his. ‘You’re _gorgeous_.’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ Merrill replied, staring down at his erect penis, feeling a heat rise in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the wine. ‘Will it fit? It’s… bigger than I thought it would be.’

Surprise flitted across Carver’s face, and he looked down at his crotch. ‘No one’s ever told _me_ that before,’ he chuckled.

‘Well,’ Merrill explained, certain she was red as a tomato now, ‘maybe it’s a human thing, but I think you’re bigger than the average elf man? Or… what I saw of the average elf man, in the clan, anyway, when they thought I wasn’t looking… and I’m an elf, and I’m… smaller down there…’

 _Mythal, I swear his erection is getting larger the more I talk_. Merrill shivered in anticipation; her cunt had been starting to moisten in excitement and arousal, but Merrill now wondered if it would be enough to accommodate him.

‘Merrill,’ he said, thumbs caressing her hands, ‘if you’re not ready for this… if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.’

‘No! No, I mean— _yes_ , yes I want to, I really do, I… I’m just… you’re bigger than I thought, and I’ve never…’

Merrill trailed off, burning to the tips of her ears, and bit her lip.

‘I’ll be careful,’ Carver reassured her, with a gentle kiss. ‘I promise.’ He grinned wickedly at her. ‘Bet you feel amazing.’

Merrill giggled nervously in reply as she lay down on her bed for him, her legs falling open almost of their own accord. Carver knelt between them, surveying the elf lying in front of him in awe as he swept his hands over her body, over her breasts, tummy, hips and thighs, worshipping everything he could touch. As Merrill ran her own hands over his brawny arms, Carver leaned forward and bent down to brush his lips against hers.

‘I want to kiss you everywhere,’ he murmured, swiping his tongue against hers when she opened her mouth to speak, and Merrill hummed as a bolt of lust shot through her body from where his tongue licked hers down to her groin. She reached up to stroke his face, until Carver caught one of his hands in hers.

‘What’s this?’

Carver’s thumb traced over an angry-looking scar, one that had clearly been caused by a deep gash, and Merrill inhaled sharply at the concern in his tone, worried that she’d scare him away… _not now_ …

‘It’s from… when I used blood magic.’

‘Oh.’

Merrill held her breath, on edge, watching him hesitate over the ugly streak disfiguring her skin. Carver stared at the scar, face devoid of any expression, and Merrill bit her lip in apprehension as she watched him internally wrestle with himself.

Then, without a word, Carver closed his eyes, and kissed it.

Her anxiety released, Merrill exhaled heavily as his lips returned to hers. ‘I’m sure that’s not in the templar job description, Carver,’ she teased him in a relieved voice.

He grinned weakly. ‘Maybe you don’t make it easy for a man to do his job.’

Carver kissed his way down her neck, down her chest, between her breasts as his thumbs reached up to swipe each nipple, and Merrill arched her back and sighed. Carver kissed her stomach, her abdomen, moving lower and lower until he reached her clitoris, which he kissed and licked so tenderly that Merrill couldn’t help moaning her pleasure, until he kissed his way back up her body, lingering on her belly button with his lips and tongue — the way he had done when drinking body shots off her previously — before drawing a line of kisses all the way to the space between Merrill’s breasts, where his thumbs had gently coaxed her nipples erect.

Merrill moaned again and grabbed uselessly at his broad shoulders as Carver gently sucked at one nipple, caressing it with his tongue before doing the same to the other. When he asked her what she wanted, what she needed, he was so obliging and willing even on the little guidance she gave him that before long she could think of nothing but what Carver was doing to her. Creators, it felt  _amazing_ ; she was soaking between her legs and her body was quivering and despite her earlier anxieties over Carver’s size she  _needed him_  inside her  _now_ ; but  _Elgar’nan_  if he wasn’t taking his time with his lips and tongue and hands…

…And now he was slipping one finger in her pussy, chuckling at how wet she was, working it gently inside her before pushing in another. Carver tantalisingly brushed his wet digits against her clit as he pulled them out, eliciting a hiss from her, and her loins ached for him.

Merrill watched as Carver put both his fingers in his mouth and sucked her moisture off them, his eyes on hers the whole time. _You taste delicious,_ his expression seemed to say, _and I want you_. He bent down to trail open-mouthed kisses down the inside of her thigh from her knee to her pussy, his breath hot against her skin and his lips soft against her clit. Her vulva throbbed with need, and Merrill thought she might actually sob in desperation.

‘Carver,’ Merrill eventually managed to choke out, ‘please…  _take me_.’

Merrill cried out in relief when Carver slowly, _finally_ , pushed his human cock inside her, his mouth finding hers as he forced her cunt wider.

‘You OK?’ he muttered against her lips; his voice was strained with the effort of not moving, but it made Merrill all soft and fluttery inside to know that even through a haze of lust, he was still concerned enough to check whether she was ready for him.

‘Yes,’ she answered truthfully, before his mouth closed over hers again, and his tongue on hers slightly muffled her moans as he thrust, groaning with his own relief at finally being able to do so.

‘Maker, Merrill,’ he panted after a while between kisses, ‘you’re so tight, you feel so good.’

Merrill could only moan in reply as their lips and tongues continued to explore each other’s, bodies undulating in rhythm as he slid in and out of her warm, wet, welcoming hole; her slender legs wrapped round him as his bulky arms wrapped around her. It was beautiful, he felt beautiful, and when he entered her, it actually felt… right.

This had never been how it was supposed to be. This templar, this  _human_ , was making love to her, but it was everything she desperately wanted and everything she was desperately needed. Here they were, hearts aflame, hands roaming everywhere, panting and sighing and moaning against each other’s mouths as their tongues occasionally tangled together in a messy imitation of what was going on down below; their bodies combined in passionate desire at last.

Something was building to a peak inside Merrill; something building with each thrust, and all Merrill knew was that she wanted Carver deep inside her and she never wanted it to stop. She would ride his cock forever if needed, feel his sweat drip on her, feel his muscular chest graze against her hard nipples, take everything he had to give to her, his hands all over and his hungry mouth on hers…

‘Oh, Carver,’ she sighed in pleasure, as their mouths finally broke apart; Carver responded with a sound that could have been her name, and when Merrill finally opened her eyes he was gazing at her with such intensity that her breath caught in her throat and her heart thudded.

‘Tell me how to please you,’ he panted, before dipping his head and pressing his face to the side of hers. ‘Maker, Merrill. Tell me—how to fuck you.’

‘Mmmm,’ was all she could reply, a shudder of pleasure rippling through her body as he licked her ear from lobe to pointed tip. ‘Keep doing—ah—what you’re doing.’

Carver picked up his pace, and before long Carver’s thrusts became harder and faster, his breathing quickened as he grunted, and Merrill moaned again as she felt the blush spreading across her face and chest as surely as it was spreading across his.

Her orgasm came suddenly and unexpectedly, her walls clenching around his cock in waves of pleasure as she cried out, long and loud with each surge of ecstasy that swept through her, drawing him deeper inside. Carver followed shortly after, groaning loudly against her neck as he came, and Merrill felt a curious warmth filling her pussy deep inside with each thrust as she rode out her own orgasm, climaxing around him as he emptied himself into her.

They lay like that for a while, breathless, satiated; and Merrill felt she’d been flooded with pure, unadulterated bliss. When Carver’s face rose in front of hers, she gratefully kissed him again, giggling slightly as she felt his cock twitch inside her. Her heart swelled as Carver tenderly took her head in his hands and locked his mouth on hers, as they both enjoyed the taste and feel of their tongues on each other’s once again.   
   
 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela searches for her relic, Varric denies losing the bet, and Merrill and Carver make a confession. 
> 
> (Warning for some NSFW/explicit content during Merrill's and Carver's POVs in this chapter.)

‘If we kill them, we get their stuff!’ shouted Isabela, before disappearing in a cloud of smoke and reappearing next to an unsuspecting archer, laughing joyously as she somersaulted out of the way of his arrow then danced forward to slit his throat.

Hawke raised his arms, and fireballs rained down from above. ‘We’re keeping score, right?’ he yelled, while Fenris scythed through the men around him, markings flaring as he ghosted in and out of the battlefield.

‘Score one for me!’ Varric cheerfully retaliated, as his target keeled over. ‘How many have you got, Hawke?’

The four of them made quick work of their assailants, and Hawke and Fenris looted the bodies while Isabela and Varric roamed the area for the chest Isabela was looking for. More often than not, these chests were disappointing — they hardly ever contained anything of any value — but sometimes, you never knew.

‘If this doesn’t contain the relic,’ Isabela began, as she sidled up to Varric, ‘I’ll let you keep anything else valuable that’s inside it.’

‘That’s generous of you, Rivaini,’ Varric said, crouching down to scrutinise the lock on the chest in front of him. ‘Do I want to know what brought that on?’

Isabela sniggered. ‘Thought you’d need the coin, Varric. Especially after you’ve so comprehensively lost our bet, after Merrill’s confession the other night.’

‘Uh-uh, doesn’t mean they’re together, Rivaini. Until then, I’ve lost nothin’.’

‘Shouldn’t be long now, though.’ Isabela bent forward conspiratorially. ‘He’s visiting her tonight. I told him to go.’

‘And you’re sure Junior went?’ Even from his lower-than-usual position on the ground, Varric never lost any of the cocky smugness that made Isabela enjoy bantering with him so much. ‘Did you check the templar barracks to make sure?’

‘Of course I didn’t — following this lead came first. But you know as well as I do that he’d never turn down a chance to mope around by her side.’

‘True, true. Doesn’t mean it didn’t go horribly wrong afterwards.’ Varric reached into his pocket for his lockpicks. ‘There’s always been some dramatic twist in the plot to get them together. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s been another.’

Isabela rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me about it. Getting those two together should have been much easier than it was.’

‘“Much easier than it was”?’ Varric quoted, before cackling. ‘You talk as if they’re already together, and you don’t even know how their meeting went tonight. Until they’re definitely together, and not just awkwardly flopping around each other like lovesick puppies, then I haven’t lost our bet.’

Isabela laughed. ‘Oh, Varric. Denial doesn’t suit you as much as you think it does.’

‘What are you two talking about?’ asked Hawke, as he and Fenris trotted over, having finished their thorough search of the corpses scattered some way away from where the two rogues were chatting.

‘Nothing!’ chorused Varric and Isabela in unison.

‘I’m not really sure I believe that,’ Hawke said, narrowing his eyes, as Varric turned back to the locked chest. ‘Surely it doesn’t take so long to undo a chest while you gossip about “nothing”?’

‘Well, I’ve got it now, anyway,’ Varric said, as — much to Isabela’s relief — the lock finally clicked open. ‘Easy as pie.’ The dwarf lifted the lid and peered inside. ‘I don’t know what your relic is, Rivaini, but somehow I have a feeling this is not it.’

‘Oh, don’t be so pessimistic, Varric,’ Isabela snapped, pushing her way forward. ‘Let’s see…’

‘An old boot,’ Fenris commented drily, as Varric pulled the mouldy leather footwear out of the chest. ‘And some… paper. Thank you, Isabela. This trip was _so_ worthwhile.’

‘Shush, you,’ Isabela answered Fenris’s sarcasm, as Varric and Hawke grabbed the sheaf of papers inside the chest. ‘There’s writing on the paper. What does it say?’

‘Looks like… poetry,’ Hawke told her, a mocking glint in his eye as he started to read the one in his hand in a deadpan voice. ‘“Roses are red, violets are violet, your eyes are as black as the socket-holes of skeletons”—’

‘“Oh, blue rose of Willium”,’ Varric recited in his most pompous voice, as Fenris snorted in amusement and disdain. ‘“On the rocky plains of my homeland, I will build you a garden from the bones of my ancestors.” Maker’s breath,’ Varric cackled as Isabela’s face fell. ‘These verses are worse than the crap spouted by that so-called poet at the Hanged Man.’ 

***

‘What—what happens now, Carver? Are we… what did this mean?’

Lying in Carver’s arms, feeling his sweat cooling on her skin, Merrill felt suddenly and inexplicably insecure. His cum, mingled with her own juices, was oozing gently out of her pussy; just moments ago she’d loved the intimacy of sharing her orgasm with him, loved feeling so close and connected to him after he released his load deep inside her. But right now, feeling it leaking out of her just made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

‘Um…’ Carver seemed taken aback by the question. He didn’t answer for what seemed an age, and Merrill felt gradually more worried as the seconds ticked by. _What if I’m just sex to him? I’ve been such a fool, I should have made sure how he felt before I gave myself to him. I wish I could be like Isabela, but I never was able to leave the Dalish mindset behind_ — _the act of lovemaking is so intimate for me; it would be so much easier if it weren’t_.

‘Merrill,’ he eventually said. ‘What would you—what do _you_ want this to mean?’

‘I would like to do this again,’ she started, tentatively.

‘Me too.’

 _Thank the Creators_. ‘I love you,’ Merrill sang in happy relief, before realising what she’d just blurted out. _Oh, Merrill. Do you always have to be so stupid? Why did you say that? Where did that come from?_

Carver had turned his head to look at her in surprise, and Merrill braced herself for the inevitable rejection. ‘I—I probably shouldn’t have said that, should I,’ she muttered. ‘I always say the stupidest things… uh-oh…’

‘I love you too.’

_Wait. He loves me?_

Merrill looked up at him. Carver was beaming at her; even in the lamp-light he looked more delighted than Merrill had ever seen him, joy and adoration etched all over his face, and Merrill’s breath hitched and her insides turned to jelly.

 _Oh Mythal_ , she thought. _I do love him. I really do_.

‘You… love me?’

‘Yeah.’ He raised a hand to stroke her hair. ‘I… didn’t know you felt the same way, but—yes, I love you, Merrill.’ He huffed a laugh. ‘Maker, it feels so good to finally tell you that.’

‘Oh.’ She huddled closer to him. ‘But you’re a templar.’

‘I know. And I don’t care.’

‘But I’m a mage. And an elf! You really… don’t care?’

‘Do you?’

He had her there. ‘Carver,’ she began, although she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or convince herself, ‘you know—you know there are… _reasons_ it’s bad for an elf to be with a human?’

‘Are there?’ Carver tensed slightly, but Merrill doggedly carried on.

‘Well… yes? Aside from the clan kicking me out. Which they’ve already done. But the children… they’ll be fully human, not elves, and… this is prob-ab-ly the wrong time to mention it, isn’t it.’

‘I…’ Carver flushed. ‘I don’t really know what to say, Merrill, but… I wasn’t planning on having children yet.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Neither was I, really, and… oh, Merrill. You’ve said the wrong thing again, shut up, Merrill…’

‘You wouldn’t have mentioned it if it wasn’t important to you.’

‘Yes. I suppose so. But—well. I don’t know. I suppose it’s too late now, anyway, we’ve already… you know…’ She sighed, shakily. ‘I suppose the clan can’t hate me anymore than they do. So I suppose… I _don’t_ care. Not anymore.’

‘That’s… good,’ Carver said, relaxing, and Merrill snuggled contentedly against him. ‘I’m glad.’

After some minutes, Merrill rose from the bed; as she stood, the thick white fluid at her entrance dribbled down her leg, and made her blush.

‘ _Elgar’nan_. That’s… a lot.’

Carver chuckled. ‘It looks good on you.’ He stood up. ‘I hope—I hope you liked it? I mean, being with me.’

‘I loved it,’ she said. ‘It was _am-az-ing_. You were am-az-ing.’

‘Thanks. So were you,’ Carver smiled, pulling her into his arms. ‘So,’ he began again, playfully now, ‘you tell me, Merrill — am I the best sworder in Kirkwall?’

‘Oh!’ Merrill exclaimed. ‘Was “swording” really a dirty thing? Why didn’t you tell me before?’

‘Because,’ he grinned, dropping a kiss on her nose, ‘I liked it?’

Merrill huffed in mock-exasperation as Carver chuckled, and she allowed him to lose her in yet more dizzying, intoxicating kisses for a few minutes, before speaking again.

‘But—Carver—are you really sure about this? I’m an elf, and a mage, and you’re a human and a templar, and it’s OK if you don’t want—’

‘I _do_ want,’ he said, stubbornly. ‘Maker, you don’t know _how much_ I want. If it’s you… it’s worth trying.’

‘But—don’t you worry about the templars?’

‘I worried about it for three years, Merrill. Why do you think I stayed away? I only stopped avoiding you when I realised I—I just couldn’t do it anymore.’ Carver took her hands in his, looking down at them as he spoke. ‘I tried, Merrill, honestly I tried… but I just couldn’t forget about you. And I—thought I’d see if there was a chance you could ever feel the same way. If you didn’t, then I’d have to move on — and if you _did_ , then I hoped we’d try to make something work.’

‘But what made you come and see me again in the first place?’ Merrill wondered, before a thought struck her. ‘By the Creators! Was _that_ the reason Isabela kept inviting you down to the Hanged Man?’

‘Um, yeah,’ Carver admitted sheepishly. ‘When we were in Château Haine I asked about you, and I—sort of—accidentally gave away what I really felt. So she resolved to set us up, whether I wanted her to or not.’

‘I had no idea you even liked me,’ Merrill said in amazement.

‘I think—I think I only realised I was in love with you recently. But I’ve liked you since the day we met.’

‘Really?’ Merrill’s eyes widened. ‘And you kept it to yourself for that long? And if Isabela hadn’t—if you hadn’t told Isabela, you were going to keep it to yourself— _forever_?’

Carver went red in shame. ‘I just didn’t know how to tell you. Or ask you out. Not without getting muddled.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not my brother. I’ve never been good at… telling people what I feel. All I know is that I want to be with you, and make you happy, and… I know you’re worth it. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.’

‘ _Ma vhenan_ ,’ Merrill laughed, throwing her arms around him. ‘You really _are_ crazy, aren’t you?’

 _That settles it_ , she decided. _He loves me, and I love him, and it’s that simple. Our love won’t be easy, and he knows that as well as I do, but if he’s determined to find a way to make it work, I want to do the same_.

Merrill tiptoed up to kiss his nose as he embraced her again. ‘Carver,’ she assured him, ‘if you’re not afraid, then… neither am I.’ 

***

When Carver woke the next morning, he felt a momentary flash of panic before realising where he was. The dim, dilapidated ceiling above him reminded him of Uncle Gamlen’s place, and it took a split second for Carver to remember why he wasn’t waking up in his bed in the Gallows.

 _I’m in Merrill’s bed. Naked_.

A rustling sound and a contented sigh came from the bed next to him, and Carver turned his head to gaze adoringly at the snoozing elf, before placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

‘Morning, beautiful,’ he said, as Merrill sleepily opened her eyes. He draped an arm around her lithe frame as she snuggled happily into him, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

‘ _Ma vhenan_ ,’ she sighed when she was more awake. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried last night was all a dream at first!’

‘I hope not,’ he answered, kissing her again. Maker, but he loved kissing Merrill; he felt like he could keep doing it and never stop, tasting her and feeling her and revelling in whatever chemistry they had that meant his body responded to her as strongly as hers responded to him, and before long she was calling out his name as she climaxed deliciously all over his lips and tongue…

Declaring their love last night seemed to have freed something in Merrill; she was less nervous, more joyful, definitely enthusiastic. This morning, she _definitely_ wasn’t as shy about asking for what she liked — or merely taking it. Carver found himself pushed back onto her pillows with a grunt as she clambered on top of him, parting her wet labia with one hand as she sank down onto his cock, pinning him down with surprisingly strong thin arms and bouncing herself on his hips, insistent on being in control (‘I want to fuck _you_ this morning, _ma vhenan_. You already had your turn last night’). He hadn’t lasted long, watching her on top of him, feeling her pussy so wet and tight around his shaft; when Merrill had reached down and touched her clit, her second orgasm sent his own ripping through him.

(Maker, he loved watching that woman, whether it was watching her fight or watching her fuck. He’d been completely out of practice making love, but the way Merrill had responded to him — both last night and right now — renewed his confidence on that front.)

The way Merrill smiled at him afterwards, Carver felt weirdly glad that Faith’s _actual_ favourite client had shown him how to please a woman in bed all those years ago.

Rather than wrap themselves around each other in the post-coital afterglow, however, Merrill climbed off him, grabbed a hand-mirror from her bedside table and examined the fluid dripping from her hole in wonder, cooing in fascination and scooping it up with an innocently curious look on her face, before licking it off her fingers so shamelessly that Carver couldn’t help blushing.

‘Mmmm,’ she declared, as if his seed was the tastiest dessert she could have rounded off their lovemaking with. ‘I’ve always wondered about this, ever since I read it in that book Isabela lent me…’

Carver sat up, and his eye caught on the wide-spined book on the table. ‘Is _that_ the book Isabela lent you?’

‘Yes!’ Merrill nodded and sucked her fingers clean before picking it up. ‘Look,’ she said, opening it at him, ‘it’s even got pictures!’

Carver gaped when he looked at them. ‘Those are some… really explicit pictures,’ he observed. ‘What’s it about? Is it a manual or something?’

‘No? I don’t think so, anyway. Isabela recommended it — the dirty bits are _ve-ry_ accurate, apparently. It’s a story about an elven princess who starts a sexual affair with her human manservant…’

‘Wait,’ Carver cut in. ‘An elven princess and… When did Isabela lend you this book again?’

‘Just after she came back from Château Haine. But it’s _so_ good. I think the author is an elven woman, too, and… Carver, why are you laughing?’

‘Maker,’ Carver spluttered when he could talk again. ‘I can’t believe Isabela has been so obvious.’

‘I’ve missed something again, haven’t I?’ Merrill said, her face falling, and Carver hated seeing how crushed she looked.

‘Hey,’ he said, pulling her into his arms, ‘nothing bad, love. I just thought Isabela might have lent that book to you to put some ideas into your head, that’s all.’

‘Ideas about what?’ Merrill asked, before realisation dawned on her. ‘… _Oh_.’

‘I’ll be your human manservant if that helps,’ Carver chuckled, kissing her.

Merrill’s laugh rang out like the most uplifting melody Carver had ever heard. ‘You, a big scary templar? Being a manservant to an elf girl from the alienage?’

‘Why not?’

Merrill giggled, playful now, a cheeky glint in her eyes. ‘Can he cook breakfast before he goes?’

‘Of course he can,’ Carver said, swinging his legs off her bed, sweeping Merrill into his arms and carrying her to her kitchen area. Merrill squealed in delight and kicked her little feet and giggled until Carver put her down, planting a smooch on her lips before standing her fully upright.

‘You kiss so beau-ti-ful-ly,’ she sighed happily. ‘I never would have guessed, Carver Hawke, that I’d get so many kisses from you.’

‘Maybe you just have that effect on me,’ he grinned. _It’s true, though. Maker, you turn me into a soppy, emotional mess. And you know what’s the worst of it? I don’t even mind_.

Merrill’s cheeks pinked so prettily that Carver couldn’t help reaching out to stroke them; her skin felt smooth and soft as he traced her delicate _vallaslin_ with his fingertips.

‘I had no idea how you felt all this time, Carver,’ Merrill admitted. ‘Maybe I should have seen it? But I didn’t.’ She reached up to cover his hands with hers. ‘I’m not very good at reading people still, it seems. I thought I was the only one falling for you… and it _ter-ri-fied_ me.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Carver, still stroking her cheek. ‘It’s… all new to me, as well. I didn’t know what to do, or how to show you how I felt, and I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same way anyway.’ He paused. ‘I wish we didn’t have to do this in secret, though.’

‘It’s for the best. We could stay away from each other, but I think we both know that didn’t work.’

‘I know,’ he said.

‘We’ll do what we can,’ she smiled up at him, as he enfolded her in his arms.

Their lips met again, lingering and loving. When they broke apart, he ushered her to the kitchen, remembering his original purpose. ‘So, darling,’ he started, ‘what can I get you for breakfast?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter next Sunday!
> 
> Couple of notes on this chapter before we go: 
> 
> 1) Much of the dialogue from Merrill in the middle section is taken from her romance in Act 2. I thought I'd use it here. 
> 
> 2) Also, in the first scene of this chapter - where Hawke, Varric and Fenris accompany Isabela on a search for her relic - is taken from the chat you have with her in the Hanged Man at the beginning of Act 2 (quest titled "Isabela's Ongoing Search", where you help her find a chest that she says "could have contained the relic" but turns out to contain "several badly-written poems and an old boot". You can watch the dialogue cutscenes for that "quest" on YouTube). I really wanted to write out the scene which led to that Hanged Man conversation, so I wrote it here :-) 
> 
> And if you think you recognised a Mass Effect 2 reference in that first scene, you might well be right ;-)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela catches Carver buying Merrill flowers, and Varric loosens his coin purse at last… but he soon has a plan for how he’ll win the money back.

It was a whole two weeks before Carver was able to visit Merrill again, and he was relieved that the fortnight passed relatively uneventfully during that time — apart from the short note he’d received from her a few days before he visited.

They had largely agreed they would keep written correspondence to a minimum, in case anyone in the Gallows got suspicious; but it was her letter — which simply read: _I thought you might like to know I’ve now finished that book Isabela lent me. It has given me some ideas! Anyway. Hope all is well with you!_ — that had him champing at the bit to see her again.

Carver stopped by the Lowtown market on the way. He wanted to buy some of those large daisies Merrill had liked in Hightown, but as the florist didn’t have any he settled on a bunch of deep red carnations instead. Maybe he could leave the daisies for next time, he thought.

‘So,’ came a silky female voice from behind him. ‘Who are the flowers for, Carver?’

‘Isabela,’ Carver greeted her flatly, turning round. ‘You were following me.’

‘Of course, sweet thing,’ she smirked, brown eyes dancing in delight, ‘from the moment I spotted you buying flowers.’ She nodded at the bouquet in his hand. ‘Dark red carnations — deep love and affection. I never knew you were capable of being so smooth, Carver.’

‘Is that what they mean?’ Carver frowned at the flowers in his hand. ‘It wasn’t intentional. N–not that I don’t mean it,’ he stuttered, going red as Isabela’s grin got wider, ‘I just wasn’t able to find any daisies I know she likes, that’s all…’

‘Daisies.’ Isabela was amused. ‘For a “daisy”, perhaps?’

‘You tell me, since you know so much about what flowers mean.’

‘If I remember correctly from what I’ve been told: symbol of new beginnings, innocence, purity, loyalty; meaning “I will never tell”. You sly thing, Carver Hawke.’

Carver shrugged; Isabela was giving him way too much credit over his floral choices, but that didn’t mean she was wrong. ‘Sounds appropriate, then. Especially that last bit.’

Isabela laughed. ‘I can’t believe the two of you have been trying to hide it from me! How long has this been going on?’

‘Only a few weeks. And I didn’t exactly hide it — but you _did_ turn up in the Gallows to ask. You know I couldn’t exactly say it out loud in case I was overheard…’

‘Well, telling me “it went well but thanks I don’t need any more of your help” before running away is hardly revealing all,’ Isabela pouted, although Carver could tell from the gleam in her eye that she wasn’t as cross about it as she sounded. ‘I got even less out of Merrill than I did out of you, by the way.’

‘Did you?’

‘Well, she blushed, and giggled; and then the others showed up for Wicked Grace and drinks so we couldn’t speak further.’ Isabela shook her head. ‘I _knew_ something was up. I should never have listened to Varric — he was _so insistent_ nothing had happened. Apparently he tried to make subtle inquiries from Merrill about you; and she just looked innocent and confused and asked if she’d missed something again. _I_ even ended up trying to persuade her to date you, when you already were!’

‘Well.’ Carver grinned at her. ‘Thanks, by the way. For all your help.’

‘Glad to hear it. Glad to hear it _paid off_.’ Isabela sniggered to herself, before speaking again. ‘She should be in the Hanged Man, by the way. She said she wanted to pick up Varric’s latest copy of _Swords and Shields_ before she “had things she needed to be at home for”.’

‘What’s _Swords and Shields_?’ Carver asked, ignoring the knowing look Isabela gave him as she quoted Merrill’s words.

‘Varric’s romance serial. It’s not as popular as his _Hard In Hightown_ thriller, but sales have started strongly, so he’s continuing it.’

‘Right. Guess I could meet her in the Hanged Man again, before walking her home…’

‘ _Such_ a gentleman,’ Isabela smirked, as they set off in the direction of the tavern. ‘She’s doing a better job of not getting so lost around Lowtown these past few weeks, you know. She still does occasionally, but at least it’s not every day anymore.’

‘That’s good. Guess her ball of twine’s been helping.’

‘She’s been remembering to use it now, yes,’ Isabela said, pushing the door open to the Hanged Man, which was as loud and rowdy as it usually was. Merrill was sitting at a table near the door chatting to Varric, putting a bundle of papers into a satchel she was carrying; on seeing them both, she got up and practically bounded over to them.

‘Carver!’ Merrill sang in her happiest lilt, as Varric stared at them, open-mouthed. ‘And Isabela, _aneth ara_!’

‘You have been hiding things from me, Kitten,’ Isabela said, wagging a playful finger at her friend. ‘If I hadn’t bumped into Carver here, buying flowers, I wouldn’t have known about you two.’

Merrill giggled. ‘Well, you didn’t tell me you were trying to set us up, so I thought I’d have my own fun for a bit. Are those flowers for me, Carver? Oh, they’re pretty.’

Carver laughed at Isabela’s gobsmacked face as Merrill took his flowers and led him out of the Hanged Man. Oh, she got Isabela _good_. He couldn’t help admiring the elf, really; Merrill was the last sort of person to play a prank of her own on any of them, and the fact that she _had_ … Well. He’d chosen well.

‘Nice one,’ Carver told her.

‘I know.’ Merrill grinned at him, and then looked him up and down. ‘You’re not wearing your armour, that’s a pity.’

The clouds, which had been threatening to rain for some time now, finally did while they were in the tavern; and just after leaving the Hanged Man they found themselves caught in a downpour. They sprinted for cover just as everyone else ran to get out of the way; the rain lashed down as a flash storm rumbled through Lowtown, drenching everything in sight.

‘Did you want me to wear my armour?’ Carver asked, pushing the wet hair out of his eyes, when he was finally under shelter.

‘Well, yes?’ Merrill blinked up at him, rain streaming down her face as lightning jagged overhead. She plastered her own soaking hair and braids behind her pointed ears and palmed the water off her face, flicking the excess drops off her hands afterwards. ‘You look so sexy in your armour, _ma vhenan_ , has no one told you that?’

‘There you are!’ Isabela came running over, hands over her head in a kind of makeshift rain-shield — the only other person who hadn’t scarpered from this part of Lowtown when the deluge hit. ‘Ugh. My hair’s going to be unmanageable after this,’ she complained, removing her blue headscarf and shaking her hair out. ‘Wet weather always messes it up so much.’

‘Isabela,’ Carver acknowledged her. ‘We were just going to Merrill’s.’

‘I know that, silly,’ Isabela retorted, wringing her headscarf out. Despite her soggy state Isabela still managed to look suitably annoyed and superior, and Carver was impressed. ‘Kitten, why didn’t you tell me that you and Carver are together?’

‘Well, of course we’re together,’ Merrill said innocently, although Carver thought he saw the cheeky glint flash in her eyes again, ‘standing under this shelter.’

‘Although we _are_ also “together” together,’ Carver grinned at her, while Merrill’s eyes widened as if she’d finally worked out what Isabela was talking about.

‘Oh! You mean why didn’t I tell you Carver was courting me?’ Merrill asked brightly, and Carver was forced to suppress his mirth. ‘It’s just like I said! I thought it was more fun not to! You didn’t tell me you were trying to set Carver up with me, so I thought I’d play along with not telling you you’d succeeded for a bit!’

‘Merrill,’ Isabela was staring at her in amazement. ‘You—you actually _played_ me?’

Merrill’s green eyes turned round and apologetic, and Carver could feel his heart bursting with love and pride. ‘I’m so sorry, Isabela, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ she said, looking so contrite. ‘Please don’t tell me Varric wouldn’t let you collect on your bet?’

‘Wait!’ Isabela shouted, as Merrill and Carver dived out of cover to head to another nearer the alienage, Carver no longer refraining from laughing. ‘How did you know about that?’

‘How did I know about the bet you and Varric had on Carver and me?’ Merrill reiterated, as Isabela caught up with them again in a secluded alleyway. She shrugged. ‘Well, after a while, it was sort of obvious.’

‘I don’t know how _that_ was obvious to you, and my feelings for you weren’t,’ Carver tittered, gazing at her affectionately, while Isabela looked flabbergasted. ‘I had no idea.’

Merrill smiled, and slipped her hand in his. ‘I suppose I just got to know Isabela very well over the last three years while you were away.’

‘ _Merrill_ ,’ Isabela exclaimed again. ‘Balls. How is it you can be so naïve and innocent about so many things, and so sharp and wise when I least expect it?’

Before either Merrill or Carver could respond, the pirate suddenly threw her head back and laughed. ‘Oh, Kitten,’ she sighed fondly, throwing her arms around her elven friend, who returned the hug, laughing just as hard. ‘I can’t believe you did that to me! I suspected _something_ was going on, but I couldn’t confirm a thing. You had both Varric and me fooled — and I can’t even be mad about it! Well done. Well done, Kitten.’

Merrill giggled as she broke off the hug. ‘I told Carver I thought you had a bet going on, and he thought it would be a good idea. Well, I wasn’t completely certain, of course, but I was fairly sure.’

‘You’re blaming _me_?’ Carver grinned at her, as Merrill leaned into him and he nuzzled her ear.

Isabela laughed. ‘I did the right thing setting the pair of you up together,’ she decided proudly as she observed the pair of them embrace. ‘I never even knew you were capable of smiling so much, Carver. Come to think of it, I didn’t know you were capable of smiling at all.’

‘Oh, he’s capable of lots of things,’ Merrill chimed in, snuggling happily against the templar. ‘And I love him.’

‘I love you too, Merrill.’

‘Ugh, stop,’ teased Isabela, rolling her eyes good-humouredly, as the rain died down to a drizzle. ‘You’ll make me vomit, and I haven’t even got drunk enough for that yet.’ She sashayed out of the alley, back to her usual confident self, gesturing at the couple that it was safe to come out as they broke off their cuddling.

‘Come on, both of you,’ Isabela finished, as Carver and Merrill emerged from the alley, giggling like naughty schoolchildren as they set off in the direction of the alienage. ‘Get yourselves home, while I should get back to the Hanged Man and rescue Varric from the state of shock I left him in.’ She winked at Merrill, who merrily waved back goodbye. ‘I’ll talk to you later, Kitten, OK?’

***

‘Rivaini?’ Varric looked up to see a dripping wet Isabela enter his suite, smirking like the cat that got the cream despite her bedraggled state. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Pay up, Varric.’ Isabela stood, grinning, hand on hip in front of him. ‘You lost  _weeks_  ago, no point holding out any more.’

‘Fine,’ Varric sighed, rummaging in his money pouch. ‘Might as well cut my losses now. So, they’re definitely together, then?’

Isabela laughed. ‘Of course they are. More fool you to bet against my judgment; but, yes, they confirmed exactly what you saw in the Hanged Man earlier, and I just got their dramatic confession out of them in the rain.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You’d have  _loved_  it.’

‘Heh. You can’t make that sorta stuff up, when it comes to those two,’ Varric said amiably, as he handed Isabela some heavy gold coins. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m relieved. I might be down some coin, but I have to admit, I’m happy if they’re happy together.’

Isabela jiggled the coins in her hand, purring with satisfaction, before sliding them into her own money pouch. ‘So. How are you going to win the coin back? Clean out the Coterie at Diamondback again?’

Varric cackled. ‘There are  _other_ ways to make money, Rivaini,’ he replied smugly as he handed her the last of what he owed her. ‘I think it’s time Kirkwall had another romance serial, don’t you?’

  

~ THE END ~  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that leads us very nicely into "The Templar and The Blood Mage" :-) and those of you who follow that other fic know exactly what Varric is writing to earn his coin back :-D We're done! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented, left a kudos, or who has otherwise shown your support while I was writing and posting this up! I really appreciate it. 
> 
> As a gift, and because it's Christmas, I've created a free downloadable e-book format of this entire fic, complete with the e-book front cover I displayed in Chapters 16 and 18. You can download these (via Google Drive) in either [MOBI](https://goo.gl/VL0EZW) form for Kindle, or [EPUB](https://goo.gl/hZgOpJ) form for iBooks - let me know in the comments if you'd like any other format, but you can also download from my Tumblr website [here](http://hollyand-writes.tumblr.com/books). 
> 
> Come say hello to me at [hollyand-writes.tumblr.com](http://hollyand-writes.tumblr.com), otherwise I wish you all Happy Holidays and a very Happy New Year!


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